


Burn the World and Build on the Ashes

by nixajane



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Ending, Brotherhood of Mutants, Consent Issues, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-05
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:05:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nixajane/pseuds/nixajane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Movie Ending AU. Erik is merciless after Shaw is dead, taking out Moira and sending the missiles back at the ships that fired them. Charles refuses to join him and they go their separate ways, but he keeps getting in the way and Erik can't allow him to interfere with his plans. More importantly, he can't allow Charles to be hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Character Death (Moira). 
> 
> Note: While I'm planning to continue this, it kind of works as a one-shot right now for an alternate beach scene. Once I start adding the rest of the story I will include more tags!

Charles was never quite certain how it had happened, once it was over. He would remember it better except he'd still had Shaw screaming in his head—Shaw, who fought down to that last second, who feed all that rage and madness back into his mind because Charles had not left any other place for it to go. 

Charles liked to think he would have been able to stop it, if it hadn't been for that. He liked to think he might have saved them all, somehow. He liked to think he might have even saved Erik from himself. 

Moira was their first casualty that day, but nowhere near the last. Charles was on his back in the sand with Erik straddling him, and he was trying to reason with him, trying to distract him long enough for those missiles to crash into the water—and then brilliant, clever Moira panicked, and did the worst possible thing she could have done. 

She fired a gun. 

Charles remembered Erik trying to get him to aim a gun at him, maybe that very same one, for practice. For sport. But Erik had never needed the practice. He turned and sent that bullet spinning backwards without even bothering to raise a hand, and it burrowed itself right through the middle of Moira's pretty eyes. 

Charles screamed as he felt the bullet go in, felt it just as though it was going into him. The last word to pass through her mind wasn't Erik's name, but his. He gasped and leaned forward, catching himself with the palms of his hands on the sand. Erik glanced at him once in concern, but then looked away again, rising to his feet as he caught those missiles and put them all back on track. 

"Erik, please," Charles pleaded, pushing himself up to his hands and knees. He almost couldn't think for the pain, so much fear and death, caught like fireflies inside his brain. 

"I'm sorry, Charles," Erik said, but still wouldn't look at him. "But it was always going to end this way." 

"It doesn't have to," Charles told him. He pushed himself back to sit there in the sand, too exhausted even to stand. "You don't have to do this." 

"I've never fired first," Erik said. "Not once today. Do you understand, Charles? We are already the better men." 

Charles knew without looking the moment those missiles started to hit their targets. He could not even hear the explosions that the others must have heard, because the screaming in his mind drowned out anything else—he could hear thousands of last words, pleas to families and gods and country. Fear and disbelief and something like awe in one powerful mix that built and built and then abruptly disappeared. 

It ripped through him just as surely as that coin had torn through his mind and he didn't even realize at first that he was screaming along with them. Erik dropped back down beside him, reaching out and pulling Charles close. Charles could not stop him and could not pull away. 

He could hear Erik screaming at the others to stay back and saw him reach out to hold them back by the metal in their clothes, as though they're somehow now all on different sides, when just a moment ago they had been a team. 

Charles didn't know how that had happened, and he couldn't see how it could ever be fixed. 

It did not matter that Charles could feel the arm holding him around his waist, or that he could hear that voice washing him over like the coming tide. It didn't matter because he couldn't hear Erik's thoughts, he couldn't feel his mind, and despite all evidence to the contrary it was as though he no longer believed that Erik was there at all.

"Charles, look at me," Erik demanded. "I need you to look at me. What's wrong, what's happened?" 

"He's a telepath," Hank snarled from somewhere behind them. "You just killed thousands of people, right in front of him, what do you think is the matter with him?" 

"Enough!" Erik yelled, before pulling Charles around and into his lap. "Charles? Charles, please—" 

Charles opened his eyes. Erik looked down at him, wearing that helmet still. He was searching out all the minds he could find—Raven, Hank, Alex, Sean, even Angel, Riptide and Azazel. He desperately needed to know there were others still alive, because Moira and those countless others had nearly torn him apart as they died, and while wearing that helmet Erik was as good as dead to him too. 

"You killed them," Charles said, and he was surprised that Erik seemed to hear him and could respond to the words. Perhaps Erik wasn't dead after all. 

"They were trying to kill us," Erik told him, as though he were speaking to a child, as though that was logic—the worst part was, Charles knew that he wasn't entirely wrong. It was self-defense on a massive scale, with staggering collateral damage, but it was a form of self-defense all the same. If those missiles hadn't been fired at them first, Erik would not have had reason to turn them around. 

It didn't mean that Charles could ever accept it had been necessary. He dragged himself away from Erik, pulling out of his grip and pushing himself to sit back on the sand a few feet away. He knew he was looking at Erik like he was some kind of ghost, but he still could not entirely convince himself that he was real. 

Erik couldn't have done this, and if Erik were here, he would feel him. Erik was impossible to miss. 

"Charles, we need to go," Erik said gently, but firmly. "We can't stay here." 

Charles turned to look at the water. The ships were burning like bonfires—but not everyone out there was dead. The survivors were flickering like candles amidst the flames, clinging onto pieces of the ships and the pieces of their minds. 

"I'm not going with you," Charles told him. He looked back at Erik, and for the first time, he was glad he was wearing that helmet. Charles wasn't certain he would have the strength to refuse him if he wasn't. 

"Yes, you are," Erik snapped. He turned around to look at Shaw's people. "You, teleporter. Will you take us away from here? Can you take us all at once?" 

Azazel stepped forward. "We would be honored to join you," he said, giving a shallow bow. Angel and Riptide walking up to join him. "I can take us all wherever you wish to go." 

"The King is dead, long live the King," Charles whispered, biting his lip to hold off the hysterical urge to laugh. He turned and saw Raven and the other kids getting to their feet. Hank and Sean look terrified at what had happened, but Alex was used to violence and Raven looked almost pleased. 

It was Raven's expression that sent him over the edge. Charles leaned down and threw up, coughing dryly when there was nothing left. He remembered what he had learned of mummification in school, those needles slipping up the nose to pull a person's mind straight out of them. 

He felt like his mind was leaking out of him too. Spread too thin and in too many places, caught up in the dark corners of dead minds as though he expected them to spark back to life. Moira was the most chilling. He could not see her from this angle, where she laid in the sand, but touching her mind and finding nothing there was worse. 

He could feel Erik's hands on him, supporting him, soothingly rubbing at his back. Those hands he had held up so easily, those hands that had committed mass murder with all the effort it would take anyone else to wave goodbye. 

"I will not go with you," Charles said again, more firmly this time. He pulled away again, shoving Erik back. Charles knew Erik was only humoring when he let his weak push drive him away, but he was quick to take advantage of the distance. "I can't." 

"Neither will I," Hank said, stepping forward. Alex trailed behind him, and Sean followed on his heels. 

"That goes for us too," Alex said. 

Raven didn't step forward. "Charles," she started. 

"You should go with him, Raven," he told her, though it broke his heart. He wouldn't look at her as he spoke. "If that's what you want." 

"You're being ridiculous," Erik snapped. "I'm not leaving you here." 

"You have little choice in the matter, I'm afraid," Charles said. 

"You forget that I'm wearing this helmet," Erik said, though he tried to say it gently, in a strange cajoling tone that one might use on a wounded animal. 

"And you forget that you're the only one that is," Charles told him, his eyes flickering to Azazel, Riptide and Angel. He reached out and froze them in place, all three of them together put up only a fraction of the resistance he faced with Shaw. He could keep them there for as long as he needed to. 

"Charles," Raven said warily. "Stop this." 

"I won't stop anyone that wants to leave," Charles said, trying to look more confident than he really was. "But I am not leaving with you." 

Erik looked unbelievably as though he was the one being betrayed. He reached and placed one hand on the side of Charles' face, running his fingers through his hair to rest on his neck. He gave him a gentle shake. "Don't you see that I've done this all for you?" he whispered. 

"Don't say that," Charles said. "Erik, don't say that—" 

"You can't just expect me to leave you here?" Erik shouted. "You're not well." 

"As you can see, my powers are still in working order," Charles said, nodding towards where the former Hellfire club members still stood frozen. "And what happens to me is no longer your concern." 

"Charles, I want you by my side," Erik said, even as he pulled his hand away. "We want the same things." 

"Oh, my friend. I'm sorry, but we do not," Charles told him. 

Erik pulled his eyes away and pushed himself to his feet, before heading towards Azazel. "Will you let them go?" he asked. 

Charles let them go. They looked startled that Erik was not where they had last seen him, but were completely unharmed. Raven started to follow Erik, before turning and dropping to her knees in front of Charles. 

"Charles—" she started. 

"Go, Raven," he told her tiredly. "I won't stop you." 

"You could," Raven said, and she looked for a moment almost as though she wanted him to. "I don't mean use your powers. If you just asked me to stay, Charles, I would. All you have to do is ask." 

Charles pulled her close, hugging her tightly, trying to remember the feel of her beneath his hands and at the corners of his mind. "Oh, Raven," he whispered. "If you really wanted to stay, you wouldn't need me to ask."

Raven held him tightly, squeezing him fiercely for a moment before pulling away all at once and stumbling back. She turned and walked towards Erik, taking his hand before gathering the courage to look back. 

Then with a sound like a thunder, Erik and Raven and others with them were gone. Hank, Alex, and Sean ran to his side, but Charles could only stare straight ahead. 

When the others had disappeared Moira had become visible where she lay behind them. Her eyes were open and staring straight back at him in accusation. 

"Let's go home, Professor," Hank said quietly, moving to block his view and pull him to his feet. 

"There's going to be a war," Charles said. 

"Yes," Alex agreed. 

Charles remembered then one of the things he had pushed out of his mind. He remembered Shaw laughing at the end, in that moment before the coin sunk in. He remembered him thinking, _I've still won._

He hadn't understood the significance of the statement at the time.


	2. Parley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik almost always won when they played chess.

Charles and Hank walked straight through the front doors. The people around them hung suspended, eerily held in place like wax figurines. Behind them, Alex and Sean split off in opposite directions without needing verbal command. Four months since the beach, and they had begun working together rather seamlessly. 

There was none of Erik's anger to be dealt with, none of Raven's ever changing moods and questions. It was better this way, Charles often told himself. Easier, at least. 

Charles led the way and Hank followed him. He had located a rather spectacular mutant with the newly rebuilt Cerebro, only to realize she was being held prisoner. She was only ten years old. 

He followed the sound of her mind, young and terrified and alone, down the stark white corridors. No one stopped them, because no one could. The guards stood as still and silent as those at Buckingham Palace. 

Charles took them into a laboratory room, and there was a stainless steel table in the center with straps hanging off the sides that made Charles feel ill. 

He remembered all too well the things he had seen in Sebastian Shaw's mind. In Erik's mind. 

"Professor?" Hank asked. 

"She's through there," Charles said, nodding towards a steel door on the far side of the room. He started to step towards it and then froze in place, goose bumps crawling up along his skin like a warning of a coming storm. Charles turned his head as his breath caught in his throat, and he grabbed Hank's arm before he could walk past him. 

"Erik's here," Charles said, voice taking on a breathless quality that gave his unease away. 

Charles could not keep tabs on Erik's mind so long as he wore that helmet, and since he had helped Emma Frost escape from the CIA she had been blocking the rest of the newly minted Brotherhood members. Charles had needed to adapt to be able to sense Erik's presence, so while he still couldn't feel his mind, he could always feel his power. 

There was always a slight vibration in the walls, like an aftershock. He could feel it moving past those minds he held in his grasp. 

"Where?" Hank demanded, eyes tightening fiercely as he moved in front of Charles. 

They had crossed paths with the Brotherhood three times since they had gone their separate ways. The first time was before they had Frost, and Charles had simply slipped into Azazel's mind the moment they arrived and had him teleport them all to Alaska, instructing Azazel to take a thirty-hour nap immediately upon arrival. 

The second time Emma had been with him, smirking sweetly as she blocked him out. She wasn't nearly as strong as he was, but there was no way to get through her defenses when she was in diamond form. Charles had needed to improvise. He had slipped into the minds of a handful of humans in the nearby buildings, having them pull the fire alarms and trip the silent alarms. 

It was a risk, because Erik might well have chosen to stay and fight the police. He had stayed standing in the center of the street for a moment, staring Charles down, and he had feared for a moment that maybe he would. Once the sirens had gotten closer, he had spun around, cape flying out behind him, to disappear with Azazel once more. 

The third time hadn't gone nearly so well. They had long since removed all the metal from their uniforms, but Erik had thrown a chain towards him like a lasso, to drag him into his arms. Hank and Azazel were standing off while Sean shrieked through the sky after Angel, Alex grinning widely as he took both Emma and Riptide on. Raven hadn't been there, at least not in a form he knew. 

They had all come to a standstill when Erik had dragged Charles up against him with one arm like a steel band around his shoulders, trapping his arms at his sides. "Call them off," Erik had whispered, his tone almost pleasant. 

His team had become more than a little protective since the beach, and he could see them all getting ready to charge straight through the others to get to him, so Charles held up a hand and did as he was told. "It's okay, stay back." 

"You're becoming troublesome, Charles," Erik had told him, with a strange edge to his voice. "Go back to your mansion where it's safe. This is the last warning you get." 

Erik had pushed him away and then disappeared with his team. 

Charles had not listened to Erik's warning, and he while he did not truly expect Erik to hurt him, he knew that he wasn't the type to make idle threats. Part of him wanted to put this conversation off, but someone was going to have to confront him or he'd kill every human here. Charles knew he was the only one that could even hope to try. 

Charles steeled his resolve and turned to look back at Hank. "I'll deal with him," he said. "You go find the girl. Her name is Ororo. I've told her to expect you." 

"Professor," Hank protested. 

"He won't hurt me," Charles said, frowning a little as he admitted, "but he might hurt you."

"Maybe he won't kill you, but he hurts you all the time. Why aren't you scared of him?" Hank demanded suddenly, moving to block Charles' path. "If any of us have reason to be scared, it should be you. You've been inside his head. How did it not terrify you?" 

Charles tried to pretend he didn't notice the tone of disappointment. That day at the beach had changed them somewhat from Professor and students to equals, and while Charles wouldn't have it any other way, he knew they needed a leader for this to work. He just wasn't sure how to be a leader by himself. He'd always had Raven in the past. 

And then Erik. 

"You really want to talk about this now?" Charles asked. 

"Yes," Hank said. "Or else I'm not letting you go after him by yourself." 

Charles did not point out that Hank could not stop him, he just sighed and looked away. "You're right, I've been in his mind, and maybe I don't know everything about him, but I know enough," he said. "I've seen what he could be. He could be amazing…unstoppable." 

"You only see the good in him," Hank said, his voice cracking. "But, Professor, think of all that potential you saw in him, turned the opposite direction. Remember the beach." 

"I have no illusions about what Erik has become," Charles said tightly. "And make no mistake, I plan to stop him if I can."

"But you still—" Hank broke off, not sure how to put into words what he was trying to say, what he knew to be true. Charles had said that Erik wouldn't willingly hurt him, and Hank knew that was possibly the one line that Erik wouldn't ever cross. But it obviously went both ways. 

"There are a number of ways to stop someone," Charles told him gently. "Not all of them require violence." 

"He won't listen to you," Hank insisted. 

"No, probably not," Charles agreed. "But that's no reason not to try. Go find Ororo, then get Alex and Sean and go back to the jet."

"If you're not there in twenty minutes, we're coming back for you," Hank told him. 

Charles nodded once before heading back into the hall. He went to stand in the center of the hallway, flexing his hands into fists as he waited for Erik to appear. He could sense Emma somewhere around the perimeter, in diamond form, so untouchable. She was blocking the others, but there was nothing she could do to disguise that magnetic field that Erik dragged with him wherever he went. 

And it was coming closer. 

Charles was nearly driven to his knees as he felt one of the humans he was holding frozen fall, the sound of the gunshot echoed from down the hall straight through his mind. Charles gasped, reaching out to grab the wall. "Erik!" he shouted, pushing himself off the wall to face him. "Stop!" 

Erik turned the corner and appeared in front of him, what was probably the dead guard's weapon disassembling itself behind his head, its pieces rotating like a child's mobile. 

"Charles," Erik said. 

"That man was defenseless," Charles shouted. "I'd taken care of him." 

"Yours was a…temporary solution," Erik said, his smooth voice not faltering with any of the emotion Charles thought ought to be there. They might as well have been discussing the weather. Charles could still feel that man die, could still sort through his memories if he wished—it was always like that the first minutes, like being haunted by a ghost. 

"Why are you here?" Charles asked. 

Erik's eyes narrowed, and he stomped towards him. Charles wondered what impression he was trying to give with that uniform. Those boots and cape and helmet, as though he designed a uniform expressly with the intent that it did not bring to mind any other. 

"These people have been experimenting on us," Erik growled. "I suppose you would have me do nothing?" 

"There's nothing you need to do," Charles said. "I've taken care of it. It's done. They won't remember their work here." 

"But you'd let them live," Erik accused.

Charles pressed his eyes closed for a moment, fighting the urge to step away. He did not need to be able to read Erik to feel the anger and disapproval coming at him in waves. "Please, just go," he said. "I promise they won't hurt anyone again." 

"But you can't promise that," Erik said, "and in any case you've never been known for keeping the ones you've made. I warned you to stay out of my way." 

"I was here first," Charles said, meeting his eyes defiantly. "I can't predict where you're going to show up. Not while you're wearing that helmet, at least, but if you'd like to take it off—"

"You're the one that didn't want to fight, Charles," Erik said. "You made your decision, you can't have it both ways." 

"The decision I made was not that I wouldn't fight," Charles yelled. "It was not to be part of a massacre!" 

Erik looked furious suddenly, and the door behind him flew almost off its hinges. Erik grabbed Charles by the arm and forced him inside, shoving him into the room so harshly that Charles fell against the desk. 

Erik slammed the door shut behind them. There was a man sitting at the desk. Charles met his blank eyes for a moment before spinning around to face Erik. Charles considered instructing the man to stand and leave them alone, but he didn't think there was any way Erik would let him pass unharmed, so he kept him sitting frozen at his desk. 

"This isn't solving anything," Charles said, forcing himself not to back away as Erik stepped closer. "I don't know what you want from me." 

"Yes you do," Erik growled. "I want you with me, but that's never going to happen, is it? You'd rather be with them. But they won't always be between us." 

Charles felt the fear grip him as Erik moved his attention to the man sitting at his desk. "Erik, don't. Whatever you're thinking, stop it right now." 

Erik didn't even glance at him to acknowledge he'd heard. With a careless wave of his hand, he lifted a letter opener off the desk and sent it straight for the man's throat. Charles moved without thinking, having guessed Erik's next move without needing to hear his thoughts. He shoved the desk chair out of the way, and moved to stand in front of the human. The letter opener came to a sudden stop a centimeter from the material of his jumpsuit, suspended in the air right below his ribs. 

Charles stared at it, afraid to even breathe, and then it was torn violently away, lodging itself half inside the nearest wall. Erik moved almost as quickly as the metal he wielded, suddenly right in front of him. He grabbed Charles by the collar of his jumpsuit and slammed him roughly against the wall. 

"You little fool," Erik growled. "I could have killed you!"

Charles put his hands over Erik's wrist, trying to pull him away. His feet were barely touching the ground, and he tried to wedge his boots against the wall gain some leverage. "Or you could have killed him," Charles said. 

"They need to be punished for what they've done," Erik said. "Don't you understand that? Haven't you taken a look inside his mind, don't you know what this man has done?" 

"Yes," Charles said, reaching out with one hand to grab the edge of Erik's collar and the edges of his cape to try and get his balance. "I know everything he's done, and his reasons for doing it. I know that every night he goes home to his twin boys and his daughter and he loves them. I know he's tried to make life more bearable for the girl they were holding here. She reminds him of his daughter." 

"But he didn't stop it, did he?" Erik demanded. "He didn't save her." 

"He didn't know how," Charles said, desperate to explain, even as he knew he'd fail. "And if we don't give him a chance, he's never going to know any better." 

"You're always giving so many chances," Erik said, leaning forward until their lips were only an inch apart, and when he spoke, it was as intimate as a kiss. "But you don't have another one for me, do you? Because all this time, you've never once asked me to come back." 

"I haven't asked because I know you won't," Charles said, trying to put distance between them, though with that wall at his back the only direction he could move would bring him closer. 

"Which means you're not here to reason with me," Erik said, sounding almost resigned. "You're here to distract me." 

"I'll never stop trying to reason with you," Charles disagreed. 

"You know there's no point, you just admitted it," Erik said. "The only way to stop me is to kill me." 

"Your mind always goes there, doesn't it?" Charles asked sadly. "Killing solves nothing, it only creates more problems. Did killing Shaw help you at all?" 

"I enjoyed it rather immensely, yes," Erik said. 

"I enjoyed it rather less," Charles said. "You see, I was in his mind at the time. I felt every single second of that coin dragging across my—across _his_ brain, and it solved nothing." 

"We stopped a war," Erik protested, his grip on Charles tightening unconsciously. 

"And you'll start another in its place," Charles said. 

"And you think, if I had allowed Shaw to live, things would be better?" Erik asked curiously, still close enough that Charles could feel his breath ghosting across his cheek. 

"I think," Charles said slowly, "if you were the sort of person to let Shaw live, then things would be very different, yes." 

"You've always known what sort of person I am, Charles," Erik said. "No one knows me better than you. That moment you found me in the water, you should have known. You should have let me drown if this wasn't what you wanted." 

Charles carefully tested Erik's grip, but there was still no give. "I didn't stop you from drowning," he said simply. "It would have been easy to force you to the surface, but that wasn't what I did. I asked you to let go, Erik, and you did. The only one responsible for your actions is you."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Erik said, relaxing his grip enough that Charles feet were back on the ground. "You're holding everyone here frozen, aren't you? You're in their minds?" 

"Yes," Charles said. "They're no threat to you." 

"They'd be no threat in any case. I need you to get out of them," Erik ordered. "Because in a moment they'll all be dead." 

"Erik—" Charles started, feeling a cold dread crawling up his spin. "Erik, don't do this." 

"I've given the orders," Erik said. "I could not stop it if I tried. You can't save them." 

"No," Charles shouted, crying out as he felt three die almost at once, two by Azazel's tail, so sudden that even if Charles had not held them still they would not have seen it coming. And the third, the third. "Raven, she just—" 

Charles had all but collapsed in Erik's arms. He wanted to push him away, but only a small part of his mind was still in that room with him. 

"You can't save them," Erik growled. "Don't be stubborn, get out of their minds. If it makes you feel better, think of it as giving them a fighting chance." 

Charles freed them all at once, all of them but the one sitting a foot away at his desk. He felt relief and guilt pressing in as he disconnected, and outside, the screams started up. Charles still felt them die, but distantly, like watching footage of a war on the news. The last instructions he'd given them had been to run, just run, but he didn't think it had done a bit of good.

"I can't allow survivors, you understand," Erik said. "Not even for you. They would start again, no matter what you've taken from their memory. It would all start again." 

Charles legs gave out and Erik lowered him to the floor. "Erik, what's happened to you?" he asked, and he forced himself to meet his friend's eyes. He was not certain any longer that he would recognize the mind that helmet held if he were to take it off. 

"I warned you, I told you to stay away," Erik told him, gently brushing Charles hair back as he looked down at him. The affectionate actions were so at odds with what he'd just done that Charles was too startled to even pull away. 

Erik finally moved away, turning his attention to the man who was still sitting in his desk chair, blissfully unaware of his situation. "Now get out of that man's mind." 

"No," Charles said, bracing himself against the desk. "Whatever you're planning to do to him, you're going to have to do to me too." 

"You owe him nothing," Erik snapped. "I can't let him live."

"I won't just turn my head and let this happen," Charles said. "He's a person, Erik. These were all people—they all, they're just like us!" 

"They're nothing like us!" Erik said. He pulled the letter opener from the wall back to his hand and got to his feet. "Let him go."

Charles could still see Raven in his mind, from her victim's eyes, the way she'd grabbed that gun and fired it so easily. There was no way it was the first time. The Brotherhood had been on plenty missions Charles didn't know about, wouldn't know about, not while Erik had the helmet and Frost. 

It would be easy to give up, or turn the other way. To say he'd tried. Charles forced himself to his feet, his head aching with so much death, and forced himself to walk across to Erik, standing between him and the man at the desk. 

"I already told you," he said, raising his chin. "If you want to kill him, you're going to have to go through me." 

Erik dropped the letter opener and it clattered to the floor. He looked torn between frustration and admiration, and he reached out and dragged Charles up against him. "Okay, I'll give you this," he said roughly, "but this is the last time I let you stop me." 

"I've never been able to stop you," Charles said, and he fought the urge to pull away. Erik had always seemed to like his space, but since the beach things had shifted. Their ideologies had never been at a greater divide, and yet Erik couldn't seem to be near him without pulling him close. "Erik, what are you trying to accomplish?" 

"You want peace, but there's no such thing," Erik said, "I just want us all to be safe. And we won't be. Until they're gone." 

"It doesn't work that way," Charles said. "Shaw was your greatest enemy, and he wasn't human at all." 

"Shaw is dead," Erik said, and he finally seemed to realize his hands were fisted in Charles jumpsuit. All at once he let him go, and Charles fell back against the desk. 

"But only for revenge," Charles whispered sickly, as the realization comes to him. "That's the only reason, isn't it? You agreed with him, and you're letting him win. Erik, what he did to you—" 

"He made me stronger," Erik snapped. "The one thing I never hated him for was that." 

Charles reached out for Erik this time, but Erik sidestepped him and headed towards the door. "Make sure you wipe his mind thoroughly," he said, nodding towards the man. "Or I can always come back and kill him later." 

Erik was far more dangerous than Shaw, Charles realized suddenly, his heart stuttering in his chest. Shaw was insane, charismatic but insane, and his plan would have destroyed the world, mutant and human alike. Erik was far too clever for that. He would take the authorities out one by one, systematically, like a game of chess. 

Erik almost always won when they played chess. 

"And Charles, you can have the girl," Erik said, looking back at him with a strange, sad expression. "You should have just started your school, and stayed there." 

Charles slid to the floor after Erik had left. He clung onto the mind behind him like a lifeline—the only one he'd managed to save. He was still there when Hank came to find him.


	3. Check Mate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was so easy to forget that he was talking to an enemy when he was looking at him, because strangely Erik's eyes looked the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for sexual assault in this chapter.

He didn't tell Hank where he was going, which was probably the first clue that he was doing something he shouldn't. Hank was always trying to talk him out of doing stupid things, and to bypass this, Charles had gotten into the bad habit of not telling him about them. 

But when he had received the call at 2:00 AM, he could tell she had been crying. Charles had never been all that great at telling Raven no unless it was for her own good, so when she asked to meet him, he'd gotten dressed and went. 

He had made sure everyone left in the mansion was sound asleep before he left. Ororo was still settling in, and he didn't like to leave her, but Sean would look after her. Sean was surprisingly good with kids, perhaps a result of still being one himself. 

The address he'd been given was some kind of warehouse district, and that was the second clue that this might have been a mistake. It used to be Raven would call him up wanting to meet, and they'd go together to a café. Clandestine meetings in the middle of the night were a new development and not one Charles was sure he should embrace. 

However, he didn't see the sense in turning around now that he had gotten this far. He carefully approached the building, noticing the door was wide open. "Raven?" he called quietly, as he went inside. 

He wasn't sure what sort of warehouse it was, but it was empty. The moonlight was falling in streams through the numerous long slanted windows along the side, and it was more than a little unsettling. Charles reached out with his mind, and then he found her. He turned around right before she spoke. 

"I wasn't sure you'd come," she said. 

Raven walked towards him hesitantly, pulling the door shut behind her. She was wearing her oldest disguise; all blonde hair curled at the ends, tan boots and a blue striped dress. He knew that she was only doing it to disarm him, but it disarmed him all the same. 

"Of course I would come," Charles told her. "You sounded upset. Raven, I want you to know, you can always come home—" 

"I know," Raven said. "But that's not why I called you here." 

Charles brought his hands up to blow on his cold fingers, glancing to the side as something started to tickle the back of his mind. "Why don't you tell me why you did, then?" he asked.

"Charles, you know I love you, right?" Raven asked. "You drive me crazy, but you're family, and I love you." 

"You're starting to scare me," Charles said, resisting the urge to sink into her mind. "Tell me what's happened. Has Erik—he hasn't—" 

"Erik is fine," Raven said, though that wasn't really what Charles was asking at all. Raven came to a stop right in front of him, and her eyes were strangely blue, more so than they usually were in this form. They looked more like his than hers. "Do you trust me?" 

At their closer proximity, Charles could feel the anxiety and guilt and fear shining out of her like a neon sign, and he started to stagger back a step. She reached out and grabbed his wrist before he could, spinning him around almost effortlessly to wrench it half up his back and drive him to his knees. 

"Charles," Raven said, and it was half a sob. "Do you trust me?" 

Charles mind was spinning at the unexpected violence, and then it was slipping almost without conscious thought into hers, searching for the reasons for this. He was barely at the edge of her thoughts when he saw that all she was thinking of was him dead—dead, or dying, and he gasped and fell forward at the stream of pictures, causing his arm to get gripped even further up. 

It would have been terrifying except for one thing; Raven was terrified enough for the both of them. These were no fantasies, these were nightmares, and whatever it was Raven thought she was doing, she was doing it to keep them from coming true. 

"Raven, let me go," Charles said, trying to turn to see her. "I need you to tell me what's happened." 

She didn't answer, grabbing his other wrist to drag it beside the other instead. She pulled a pair of handcuffs out of her pocket and put them on him. Charles tried to turn his head to see her, but he couldn't. "Stop this now," he said.

Raven knew that he could stop her easily, and it was her fault that he'd gotten it so ingrained in his head that his power shouldn't be used that way. The worst part was that she was relying on this last promise of Charles' to stay out of her head, in order to keep him safe—when if she'd never made him make it in the first place, he could undoubtedly protect himself. 

Once she had latched the handcuffs she crouched down in front of him. "I need you to listen to me, because I don't have long," she said. "There are things that are happening, and they can't be stopped. You would try and stop them and I can't let…you'd get hurt, I know you would." 

"Raven," Charles said, trying to gain his balance. "I need you to unlock these cuffs. This is the one and only time I'm going to ask. If you don't do it, and tell me what's going on, I'm going to have to make you." 

"You won't. I trust you," Raven whispered. "Really, I think I always have. You won't hurt me." 

"It doesn't have to hurt," Charles told her.

"But you wouldn't, not to me," Raven said. 

"You would do this to me, and I never would have guessed that," Charles said, trying to stay calm. "So perhaps you shouldn't be so certain of that." 

"Charles," Raven told him, leaning down, her eyes turning gold with concern. "We're doing this to protect you. We have things we need to do, but first we have to make sure that you're safe." 

"We," Charles echoed, and then he felt it, a sparking magnetic field that lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. 

Charles spun around, dropping back to catch his balance on the ground with his bound hands, his legs splayed out in front of him. Erik stood over him, almost unreal in his helmet and cape, poised as though for a portrait. 

Charles caught his breath, and then looked up to meet his eyes with defiance. "That helmet is bad enough, but the cape never stops being ridiculous," he told him. 

Erik gave a wry grin. "That's all you have to say to me, Charles?" he asked. "After all we've been through these last months?"

"Why have you brought me here?" Charles demanded, moving his gaze from Erik to Raven and back again. "What do you want? I thought we agreed to go our separate ways." 

"Yes, we did," Erik says. "Except, as you well know, you haven't exactly been staying out of my way. Don't say I didn't warn you, Charles." 

"I'm starting a school," Charles said slowly. "I have to recruit. It's harmless, and it's nothing to do with you." 

"You diverted me and my men to Alaska on our first mission, in under twenty seconds," Erik said coolly. "We were in the middle of nowhere for over a day because Azazel wouldn't wake up." 

"That's unfortunate, but I don't see what it has to do with me," Charles said. 

"Charles," Erik admonished. 

"Okay, fine, it was me," Charles said, trying to hold Erik's eyes. It was so easy to forget that he was talking to an enemy when he was looking at him, because strangely Erik's eyes looked the same. There was so much in poetry about them being windows, but with that helmet cutting Erik off from him, he could not see any change. He felt he was looking at a photo of an old friend. He swallowed hard and then glanced towards the ground. "You deserved it, and if I'd known what you were planning to do I would have done far worse." 

"Which is why we're here," Erik said, almost fondly. "I cannot allow it to continue. You are in far too much danger, and far too dangerous, to be running around trying to fix things at the moment." 

"So you're what, going to hold me hostage?" Charles demanded. "Or just do away with me?" 

"Charles," Raven snapped. "You know better than that." 

Charles turned to glare at her. "I would have thought so," he said. "And what exactly is supposed to happen to the others, while you lock me up in some tower?" 

"Don’t worry about the others," Raven told him in his voice, and suddenly Charles was looking at himself. Raven kneeled in front of him, a perfect mirror image, down to the scuffs in his shoes. "I'm sending them away." 

"They won't believe you're me," Charles protested weakly, but even as he said it, he doubted it was true. The little smirk that Raven gave him was one of his, kind but just a little bit condescending. She'd fooled people before.

"Of course they will," she said. "No one knows you like I do. The only thing I can't mimic is your telepathy, but you're so scrupulous about not using it on them they won't even notice that it isn't there." 

"They won't go, they wouldn't leave me," Charles said. "I don't care what you tell them. You have to know this will never work—" 

"It will work," Erik snapped. " _You_ will be telling them that the CIA has found about your estate, and that you need them to get out of the country while you sort it out. They'll go." 

"It's going to be okay, I promise," Raven told him, still wearing his skin, and Charles tried not to shudder as she reached out to touch him. He'd never had a problem with her impersonating him before. She'd done it for fun, once upon a time. 

"Mystique, leave us," Erik said. 

Raven rose far more gracefully than Charles could have managed, and turned on her heel. 

"Raven," Charles called desperately. She turned to look at him, and he could hear her faint apology in the back of his mind as she turned away again, walking towards the door without a word. 

Charles turned to look back to Erik, trying not to wince as he heard the door slam behind Raven and then she was gone in a flash—taken by Azazel. Too late he realized he should have stopped her, no matter if she never forgave him. He should have slipped into her mind and stopped this while he still could, instructed her to give some message to Hank, to release him, to take Erik's helmet, _something_ , because there would be no stopping Erik now. 

Erik reached down and gently dragged him to his feet by a grip on his arm, before pulling Charles back against him with a hand across his chest. He used his other hand pull his jacket half off and roll up one of Charles' sleeves. "What are you doing?" Charles asked, though he was fairly certain he knew.

He could feel Erik's breath ghosting against his ear. "I would never hurt you, Charles, I want you to know that," he said, so matter-of-fact that despite everything Charles thought Erik might actually be so far gone that he truly believed it. "And if I let you go, I'll have to fight you. You'd try to stop me, and knowing you, you might even succeed." 

"You'll have to fight me anyway," Charles promised. "I won't stand by while you're massacring people. I can't." 

"I know you won't, you've proven that you will put them before yourself. This is something I cannot allow," Erik said, and while Charles' couldn't see it, he heard the slight burst of compressed air that could only belong to a syringe being prepared. 

"You can't help yourself," Erik continued, that same strange kindness in his voice; it was somehow far more terrifying than his anger. "That is why I'm taking away your choice. When this has all been taken care of, you'll be blameless, and you'll be safe." 

"Erik—" Charles said his name in a broken plea, all of his eloquent arguments tied up inside that single word. 

"I'll wake you when it's over," Erik promised, and Charles felt the needle go in. The tip sinking into his skin didn't hurt nearly so much as the fact that Erik was the one pushing it in, and Charles fell back against him as the drug took hold. 

His telepathy reached out for help, a distress signal sent out on automatic. But no one was there but Erik, and he couldn't reach him through that helmet, 

The only answer he received was a shiver of his own distress as it circled back.

 

-

 

Sedation, on a telepath, was a tricky thing. It lowered their defenses, but it did nothing to dampen their power. Charles avoided it whenever possible, because sedation was just asking for other people's demons to stop by and say hi. 

He was not awake, but he wasn't unconscious either. It was a state of being that Charles had often associated with limbo. There were flashes of the real world around him. He thought he heard Raven once, speaking from somewhere, shouting or crying or both. 

Erik had said nothing, but Charles had _felt_ him there, hovering over him like some avenging angel. 

Then there were the nightmares. Nightmares were very powerful things, Charles had learned this early on. He had shared Raven's for years. They were too heightened emotionally; it was like a siren call, sucking him in. He had become better at blocking them out as he got older, but drugged, he could not stop them playing out behind his eyes like film reels. 

There were a number of different people dreaming around him. Charles did not recognize most of them, but he recognized at least seventeen distinct mental signatures. The trouble was, it didn't matter who the dreamer was, the nightmares were always the same. 

It was the world, on fire, burning to dust. Buildings gone up in smoke, buildings pulled down by their own foundations, people screaming and running. He saw Raven in one once, fierce and beautiful and covered in blood. 

Even half conscious Charles was sorting through them all, tracking the similarities, putting together the pieces. He knew what it meant.

Erik had finally gotten his war. 

 

\- 

 

He didn't know how long it had been, when he started to surface. The world came back into focus slowly, and the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was himself. There were mirrors on every surface, dividing and replicating his image like a kaleidoscope. He could see he was lying in low bunk, redressed in a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. His arm was hooked up to a nearly empty IV. 

Charles pulled his eyes away from the mirrors to focus on the IV in his arm. He reached to rip it out, but the needle gently tugged itself out from beneath his skin before he could. It spun for a moment in the air, like a compass without a case, before Charles' gaze followed the angle of the point and saw Erik sitting in the corner of the room. 

Erik held out a hand and needle reformed into a small grey marble and fell to the ground. Now that he knew he was there, Charles could see Erik in every corner of the mirrored room. He was wearing a black turtleneck and jeans, but the helmet was firmly on his head. 

"You've been talking in your sleep," Erik told him casually. "Quite remarkable actually. You once recited an entire conversation, one I had with Azazel nearly twenty miles away. I had them bring in the mirrors then, but I suppose the damage was done. Your reach really is astounding." 

Charles did not remember being in Azazel's head. He backtracked but found he could not bring himself to sort through any of those images again. He would rather continue to believe everything he had seen had been dreams. "Erik, what have you done?" he whispered, instead.

"You were right, you know, about men following orders," Erik told him. "It's rather amazing how completely harmless they are when they have no orders left to follow." 

_I'll wake you when it's over,_ Erik had said. He wondered suddenly if he should be grateful that Erik has trapped his mind in this room. He may not want to know what lay beyond it. 

"The U.S. government has been decimated," Erik told him. "The key was striking everywhere at once. One of us, we're as good as an army of humans. And my forces number in the hundreds now. You should have seen them, Charles, you should have seen our brothers rise up out of rubble to join us. They were beautiful. Every last one of them." 

"You've gone mad," Charles told him, and his head was swimming, bouncing off these walls. 

"The world belongs to us now," Erik told him firmly. "Well, America, at least. For now." 

Charles struggled to sit up, pushing his legs to the ground. His feet were bare and he shivered as they connected with the cool mirror that had been laid along the floor. Erik was at his side in a moment, kneeling in front of him in concern. "Are you cold?" he asked. 

"Am I—?" Charles broke off, staring at Erik in disbelief. He couldn't reconcile this man, the Erik he knew, with the man that had just soundly staged a coup on the United States of America. 

Erik reached out to touch him and Charles scrambled back along the bed, bracing one hand against the mirror at his back. He could see himself in the mirror behind Erik and he closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see his own horror reflecting back. 

"How long has it been?" Charles asked. He lowered his hand to run the palm against the needle wound in his arm, and he could feel dried blood clogging up his nose. He supposed it didn't really matter how long at it had been. But it was somewhere to start. 

"Less than two weeks," Erik assured him, though he did not try to touch him again. "It was very quick." 

Charles forced himself to open his eyes and turned to look back at Erik. He watched him speculatively for a moment. Kneeling where he was, he was at the perfect height for Charles to make a grab for the helmet. He felt like he should try even though he was fairly certain he would not succeed. 

"Charles," Erik said, sounding almost amused, and bringing Charles' attention back to him. Charles could tell that Erik knew exactly what he was thinking. "It's too late. It's done." 

Charles steeled his resolve. He could never beat Erik in a fight, though he had given it his best shot in Cuba. All that was left to him was to reason with him, though he feared Erik was right, and it was much too late. But if nothing else, Charles wanted to make sure Erik realized what he done. 

"Are you going to build camps for them?" Charles asked quietly, scooting closer on the bed, even as his skin itched to get away. He forced himself to reach out and grab Erik's wrist, pushing back the sleeve of his shirt to run his fingers over the numbers on his arm. "You could even number them, if you'd like. It would make them so much easier to keep track of." 

"Don't," Erik says, choking on the word. "It isn't the same." 

"No, it's not," Charles agreed, dropping his hands back into his lap. "Because this time you're on the other side of it, and that makes all the difference in the world." 

"I will make this world a better place," Erik told him fiercely, reaching out to grab Charles' chin and force him to face him. "One where it doesn't matter what you look like." Erik dragged Charles closer against him, "or who you love."

"One where all that matters is what you can do?" Charles asked carefully. "There's always going to be a hierarchy, Erik, don't fool yourself. Your only interest is in creating one in which you're at the top." 

Erik made a sound of frustration low in his throat, and wrapped his fist in Charles' shirt, before forcing him back up on the bed, and crawling up after him. "You're supposed to be there with me," he said. 

Charles opened his mouth to protest and Erik was kissing him before he could. Charles knew he should have seen this coming, had known it long before Erik ever lifted that helmet on his head. That spark of attraction when Erik looked at him, wrapping itself around his mind, as desperate and single-minded as Erik was about anything he put his focus on.

It had been comforting at the time. Charles had not wanted to confront it and risk it turning into something else. So he had known and pretended not to know, and he had lied to himself so well that the sudden force of Erik against him took him completely by surprise. He pushed back on instinct, forcing him away, but Erik just grabbed his wrists to pin them above his head and then leaned in to nuzzle his neck. The helmet bit into his skin, crushing against his temple while the jagged edge dug into his collarbone. 

"Stop," Charles gasped, trying to bring up his legs to force him back, but Erik kept them trapped between the bed and his own. "Erik, please, stop. This isn't what you want." 

"No, this is what I want," Erik growled, dragging one leg between Charles' thighs to force them apart. "It just isn't how I wanted it." 

"Please, don't do this," Charles whispered, hating the way his breath hitched, " _Erik_."

Erik went still, as sure as if Charles had frozen him, and then pushed himself away to the other side of the bed. Charles couldn't tell if he was horrified or furious, but those eyes stared back at him accusingly from every wall in the room. 

Charles tried to still his heavy breathing, and he wasn't sure what he had said to finally break through. He pushed himself as far along the bed as he could go, but he didn't dare try to stand. His legs were shaky from not being used so he pulled them up against his chest instead. He wasn't sure how long they sat there, not speaking, before their breathing finally evened out. 

"You haven't asked what I plan to do with you," Erik said eventually. 

"There can't be anything worse than what you've already done," Charles told him. 

Erik pushed angrily out of the room, and Charles felt it for a brief moment as the circle of mirrors was broken, a rush of thoughts and life and—and then it was gone, the door slamming shut, leaving him completely and utterly alone inside his own head.


	4. Samson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wanted so much to fix you," Charles whispered. "And instead you've broken me."

The silence was driving him mad. 

Charles chewed absently on one of his fingernails as he paced across the mirror. His head was pounding from trying to get past these walls, and the knuckles of his right hand were torn and slightly bloodied from where he'd smashed his fist into the one beside the door. The mirror had tiny inconsequential spider web cracks spreading out in all directions from the contact point, but they were obviously made of sturdier stuff than the average vanity mirror. 

He wondered if Erik had taken them straight from one of Sebastian Shaw's other hideouts. He'd inherited his kingdom, after all. 

He had to focus. He had to get out. Two weeks. How much could really have happened in two weeks? Wars lasted years. 

Except it hadn't really been a war. It was more of an invasion—a pre-emptive attack. Most people did not even know these powers could exist. They would not have known how to fight back. 

He paused in his internal monologue as he noticed something sitting in the middle of the floor. It was the small metal bead that had once been a needle. He bent to pick it up and rolled it in the palm of his hand, turning to gaze with interest at the bed. 

Charles dropped down beside the corner of the bed. He lifted the bedpost and placed the ball beneath it, before slamming it down. He caught his breath and paused, listening for any indication the noise had been heard. When no one came running, he did it again. 

The mirror started to crack, bit by bit. 

Charles pressed the tips of his fingers against the jagged rip and closed his eyes, reaching out. It was like diving into a tunnel, dark and cold and resistant, but he could feel the light on the other side. The buzz of others' thoughts was a sort of comfort; he forced himself towards them, and tried to gather them up. 

Open the door, he thought at them. But he could not grab on well enough to make the command stick. 

Charles turned to lean back against the wall in frustration. He might be able throw himself or the bed against the mirrors enough to crack them further, but it would be his one and only shot, and if Erik caught him in the act—he doubted he'd be allowed a second attempt. 

He was fairly certain Erik wouldn't kill him, but there were, of course, far worse things. The thought of going back under sedation sent a rush of unease through him. He'd been helpless. He had tried so hard to stop them, to save those he could, but they were only dreams, slipping through his fingers like sand.

He heard footsteps at the door and struggled to his feet, dragging the bed a foot over to hide the cracks and then standing in front of them to wait. The door pushed open and Charles stared at Erik's figure for a moment in disbelief as the door locked them in, his heart stuttering in his chest. 

"Raven," he breathed. 

Erik's skin folded in on itself like falling dominos, leaving his sister standing in his place. "Hello, Charles," she said quietly. She looked uncertain and desperate, not at all as she had in those brief glimpses he'd seen during his sedation. 

His first response was to want to comfort her, but he clenched his hands into fists at sides to keep from reaching out. He couldn't count the number of skinned knees he'd tended when she ignored his advice to be careful, all the times he'd read to her so she could sleep. He could tell by the swirling maelstrom of her thoughts that he she was in way over her head, some part of her desperately wishing for him to make it better the way he always had before. 

But this wasn't his Raven. This was Magneto's Mystique. 

And there was no fixing this. 

"Say something," Raven said. "Just…just go ahead. Say it. I deserve it." 

"I'm glad you're not dead," Charles told her quietly. "The others?" 

"I—I don't know for certain," she said. "They were okay the last I heard. I told them to get out of the country, but they either didn't believe me or they came right back. They've been around, causing trouble in your name." 

"Good for them," Charles said. 

"Charles—" Raven broke off, looking away like she couldn't meet his eyes. The trouble was there was no place to hide in a room full of mirrors. 

"He's not going to let me go, is he?" Charles asked after a moment. 

"No," Raven said. 

"Are you?" Charles asked, watching her reflection in the mirror. 

"Charles, he doesn't listen to me," Raven said. "Please, you have to understand. It was risky enough coming here, he said I couldn't, I had to pretend I was him to even get past the guards—" 

"And why would you go to all that trouble?" Charles asked sharply. "To say goodbye?" 

"I had to see you," Raven said. "I know you must hate me, but I had to know you were alright at least." 

Charles laughed. "You sound like Erik," he said. "I'm not alright, Raven. None of us are. If you wanted to pretend that I was you shouldn't have come." 

He moved towards the opposite wall, watching her carefully as he circled around her mind, coming closer and closer as he did. It would be so easy, and all it would take was three words. Open the door. 

She had to know he wouldn't be able to keep his promise if she came to him like this. She wouldn't keep hers in his place. He couldn't let her leave here without him. 

"I know what you're thinking," Raven said quietly. "I can feel you, Charles. You've been with me all this time, and when you first disappeared—I'd thought, I thought you had died." 

Charles frowned, glancing at up to find she was finally meeting his eyes. "What are you talking about?" he asked. 

"When he brought in the mirrors, he didn't tell me," Raven said. 

"But what was that about before?" Charles asked. 

"You don't remember," Raven whispered. 

"I don't remember what?" Charles demanded, and Raven's mind was calling to him, so familiar and yet so changed. He could find out anything he wanted to know. He held himself back because he'd rather hear it from her. 

"Charles, you were there," she said, finding the courage to step closer. "You were in all our minds. Not everyone could recognize what you were, but I knew. You—you would warn the humans, get them to evacuate entire buildings before we could…don't you remember this at all?" 

Charles thought back to the nightmares. He remembered cataloguing their plans, he remembered his mind reaching out to the sites before they were burned—so many people there, so many, and he had told them all: 

_Run. You need to run. He's coming._

Oh, but then he had known, really, all along. They hadn't been nightmares at all. 

"They're looking for you, you know," Raven continued. "Beast, the others, there's a resistance. They're calling themselves the X-Men and the humans all know they're looking for the one that tried to save them, so they're calling you X. They're rallying in your name. Magneto didn't expect that to happen, he was furious. I don't think he wanted to acknowledge that you wouldn't agree with what he had done. So he brought in the mirrors then and—"

"His name is Erik," Charles said quietly. 

"It doesn't matter what we call him," Raven said softly. "It's not that simple." 

"Says the girl who gave us all new names," Charles said. 

"It was something else to hide behind," Raven said. "I'm good at that." 

"Well, you learned from the best," Charles said ruefully. 

"I really thought I'd done the right thing," Raven told him. "I thought we needed him. And maybe...maybe we did. But now we need you."

"He's never going to let me go, you said so yourself," Charles told her. 

"But you could leave," Raven said. "All you have to do is make me open the door." 

"Make you?" Charles shook his head sadly. "What would happen, Raven, if I simply asked?" 

"I—" Raven broke off, her blue skin changing to look like a pale sky. She reached out a hand towards him and almost without thought he stumbled back. "Charles. Oh, god, Charles, what has—what has done to you? Has he—?" 

Charles followed her line of sight to the faint bruise at his neck, barely hidden by his shirt. There was no mistaking what it was from, honestly. Raven had seen him come home with similar marks often enough to know very well what it meant. "No," he said calmly. "Nothing happened and it's the least of our worries." 

Raven's eyes looked like they were made of flecks of gold, flashing angrily as she took another step closer. "He's too far gone, isn't he?" she asked. "He doesn't even know what's right anymore." 

"Do you?" Charles asked. 

Raven looked about to answer, but spun around at the sound of the door crashing open behind her. Erik stalked into the room, closing the door behind him before Charles could reach anyone outside. He looked murderous. 

"I told you not to come here," he growled. "He had a way out of here the moment you stepped inside. You realize that, don't you? Did you really think he would let you walk out of here without him?" 

"I needed to make sure he was okay," Raven said, her tone like steel, entirely unafraid. Charles wondered what she had seen that Erik could not scare her anymore. "As it turns out I'm glad I did." 

Raven stepped forward, morphing into Charles as she did, twisting his lips into a seductive grin. "You need to act out some sick fantasy? You can do that with me, I'll play along. I'll even act terrified if that's what you want. But you don't touch him." 

"Raven," Charles snapped. "Stop it." 

Raven reverted to her true form, still staring defiantly up at Erik. Erik's eyes were blazing in the shadows of his helmet. "This is none of your concern, Mystique," Erik said. "Get out before I have you put in a cell of your own." 

Raven moved past him, wary as a tigress, before glancing back at Charles. I'm sorry, Charles heard her say, where only he could hear her, and then she was gone. 

"That's what happens, you know," Charles said, turning his attention to Erik. "They'll all turn on you eventually. People talk about revolution, Erik, because it's lovely in the abstract. The reality is something rather different, and we only cope by finding someone to blame." 

"I did not do this to be worshipped, I did it because it was necessary and there was no one else," Erik said, his narrowing as they looked Charles over. "What have you done to yourself?" he demanded, reaching out to grab Charles' bloodied hand. 

Charles fought the urge to pull away. He saw Erik's eyes move to the cracks in the mirror where he had punched the wall—but those cracks were too shallow to be worrying. He frowned anyway. "I know it must be disorienting for you here," Erik told him. "But we will be leaving soon." 

"Leaving," Charles repeated slowly. 

"Yes, to my new headquarters," Erik said. "We can't stay here, obviously. I am too much of a target, and you are too likely to find a way out. I have found somewhere safe for us. Only Azazel will know the location. Only you will be there with me."

"And are you going to lock me up in another little mirrored room?" Charles asked, flinching as Erik ran his thumb across his bruised knuckles. 

"I won't have to," Erik said. "There will be no one else alive for miles." 

Not no one living nearby. No one alive. 

Charles tugged his hand out of Erik's grasp, stumbling back at the force he used to do it. Erik smiled slightly, but let him go. He looked almost amused. "Don't worry, I promise it will be much nicer than here. I know the standard of living to which you are accustomed." 

He took a deep breath, moving back. Erik looked like Shaw standing there, with that helmet on, his image repeating over and over at all angles. This was what Shaw had looked like to Erik, before he put that helmet on. Before he killed him. 

Charles kept walking backwards until he hit the wall. 

"May I ask you something?" Erik asked, and his tone was inquisitive, unfailingly polite. It was the tone he might have used while they were playing chess, for a question asked as he twirled a pawn in the palm of his hand. "Why didn't you have Mystique reopen the door, the very moment she walked in? You could have had control of my entire base quite easily." 

"That was Plan B," Charles told him honestly. 

"I see," Erik said. "And Plan A?" 

"Getting her to open it on her own," Charles said. "She wouldn't, by the way. You've done a lovely job corrupting her." 

"She didn't seem too thrilled with me a moment ago," Erik said. 

"I'm still family, for all intents and purposes," Charles said. "Despite our differences, I imagine the thought of you raping me would still have some effect." 

"I wouldn't do that," Erik protested angrily. 

"What does it say about you, that she thinks you would?" Charles asked. 

"And what do you think, Charles?" Erik demanded, stalking towards him. 

"I think we are on very dangerous ground," Charles said. "You're not very good at denying yourself the things you want." 

"Ah," Erik said, leaning in, and placing his hands on the mirror on either side of Charles' head. "But as you said, that was not what I wanted. You were right. It's not." 

"You think you could ever have me any other way? After this?" Charles asked breathlessly. He held himself still, his eyes following the contours of Erik's helmet, instead of looking directly at him. 

"We'll see," Erik said. He raised Charles' bruised hand, and placed a kiss across his fingers. "I'll check on you after I take care of a few things, and we'll leave in the morning. Don't get into trouble in the meantime." 

Erik pushed away from him and out the doors. Charles' head flared in pain at the intermittent thoughts every time that door opened, but he didn't let it stop him. He moved to the bed and dropped to his knees beside it, breathing carefully for a moment, listening for any movement on the other side of the door. 

He no longer had time for subtleties. He grabbed the bedpost and slammed it down hard, creating a sharp-edged crevice in the surface of the mirror. Charles laid his hand across it, curling his fingers inside, and closed his eyes. 

His mind fled the room like an arrow, and he passed from one mind to another until he found the one that he wanted—she wasn't hard to find. She was burning bright and angry, pulsing like a star. Charles caught hold of her mind and pulled it towards his own. 

_Raven._

His fingers drew along the edges of the mirror like he was reading Braille, and he held his breath as he waited to see if she would answer. 

_Charles? Did you escape?_

_No, I've just cracked the mirror. I need to speak with you._

_I swear I didn't know, Charles. If he's been hurting you, I'll—_

_That's not important, there are far greater things at stake. I need to know if you're going to help me, because I'm not going to make you. If you're going to do this it has to be up to you._

_Charles—_

_Please, Raven. I don't want to do this without you. But I will._

_Okay. I'm coming, okay? I can get you out. We can get out of here together._

_No, we can't. We have to stop him. We have to. He can't—he can't be allowed to continue._

When there was no response he skimmed the surface of her mind. She was terrified and angry and her heart was all but already broken. Charles thought his own mind must sound much the same. 

_Raven?_

_What do you need me to do?_

_I need a sedative. I have to incapacitate him to get his helmet off._

_He'll sense the needle. You would never be able to use it before he noticed._

_Is there something else we could use?_

_No. Yes. I think._

_We don't have much time. He's moving me, and by morning it will be too late._

_There used to be a lab here. Hank's lab._

_We're at the CIA base?_

_Yes, it was abandoned after Shaw's attack. We thought we might as well put it to good use, since everyone else that knew about it was dead. I think Hank had some glass needles down there somewhere. But this is risky, Charles. We could just—_

_Please bring it to me as soon as you can._

_Charles, if you're going to do this, you have to do it. You can't show him mercy. You can't. He'll use it against you._

_I don't intend to show him mercy._

_What—what are you going to do to him?_

_I'm finally going to give him reason for his fear of me. The sedative, Raven. Quick as you can._

Charles pulled his hand away from the mirror, dragging himself out of Raven's mind with a gasping breath. He turned to press his head against the cool surface of the mirror and choked back a sob. 

He was plotting with his sister to destroy his best friend. 

Breathe, he told himself, focus. He could feel the other minds around him begin to coalesce as the passage out of this room became more familiar, easier to access. He let himself roam through their thoughts, like flipping through a deck of cards, fast enough all he could distinguish was the suit. 

A handful of them were full of blood lust and vicious. A few of them were angry and trapped. Almost all of them were terrified. 

He could work with that. 

 

-

 

He wasn't sure how long he had been lying there before the door opened again. Time passed slowly in this room, and though Charles' mind could have escaped out the cracks he'd kept it here, to save his strength for something else. 

He sat up to see Erik enter with a woman in a lab coat at his side. She pushed glasses nervously up her nose, and shuffled away from Erik when he moved further in the room. 

"Charles, this is Amelia," Erik said. "She's going to patch up your hand." 

The introduction had been unnecessary. Charles knew exactly who she was.

"Pleased to meet you," Charles told her. 

"Mr. Xavier," she said, kneeling beside the bed to examine his hand. 

Erik loomed at the door as she cleaned the wound and wrapped the bandage around it. After she had finished, she fumbled with her kit and spilled her supplies on the bed. 

"Oh, I'm sorry about that, dear, I'm so clumsy," she apologized. As she struggled to gather them up, he felt her slip a syringe in the waistband of his sweatpants. He held himself still and very carefully did not look at Erik to see if he'd noticed. 

The woman looked up at him as she pulled off her disposable gloves. She threw him a wink, her open eye flashing gold, before getting to her feet and heading towards the door. "I put on some antiseptic," she assured Erik, looking back at Charles with studied professional concern. "The cuts are all superficial. No lasting damage done." 

"Thank you," Erik said, closing the door behind her. He glanced around the room, possibly searching for more cracks, before he turned his attention to Charles. "How are you holding up?" 

"As well as can be expected, I imagine," Charles told him. "And how is dictatorship treating you?" 

"Charles, I don't want to fight with you," Erik said. 

It was an utterly ridiculous statement, but Charles let it go. He had a confession to make—one that he hoped would take the attention off his true intent. He didn't know exactly where to start, but he supposed there was no place better than the end. "Do you remember Moira?" he asked. 

It had the desired effect. Erik froze, his eyes shooting to latch on the telepath's with anger and defiance, though he held his temper better than Charles had come to expect. 

"Do you really want to start this again?" Erik asked tightly. "You don't look up for an argument." 

"Moira had such a beautiful mind," Charles continued. "Not many people do, you know. We tend to be messy, disorganized creatures, and often we make sense to no one but ourselves." 

"She was trying to kill me, Charles," Erik said. "Mein Gott, you were right beside me. She could have just as easily killed you." 

"As much as I wish you would feel remorse, that was not my intention in bringing it up," Charles said, glancing up at him. "I'm trying to explain—what it's like when I enter another's mind. Moira let me do it. Not many people do, not with permission."

"You entered mine," Erik said grudgingly. "Though I don't recall you asking." 

"And thus we reach my point," Charles said. "If I was drawn to Moira's mind, Erik, it was nothing compared to yours. I was absolutely lost to yours. I think maybe I've loved you since that moment I met you, I just couldn't admit it to myself. But if I owe you anything at all, I suppose it's admitting to that." 

Erik dropped down on the bed beside him, pulling Charles around to face him. "Then be with me," he said, his voice almost shaking, as he tilted Charles' chin up with one hand. "What we could do together, Charles, nothing could stop us." 

Charles let himself be maneuvered, sliding closer, though he kept his hands on the surface of the bed. If he raised them too high Erik would capture them to keep them from grabbing for his helmet. And he needed them free. 

"That was then," Charles said, leaning closer. "That was when I thought I knew everything about you there was." 

"That's not how it works," Erik said, and he sounded almost desperate. "Not even for you. You can never know everything—because if I didn't know what I was capable of, how could you?" 

"I understand that now," Charles agreed. "But do you?" 

"Charles," Erik said in frustration. "Stop talking in circles." 

Charles placed one hand at Erik's hip, and the other at his own to carefully draw out the syringe. He leaned closer, making sure to keep Erik's eyes on his own, holding him captive in his gaze. 

"What I mean to say is, it goes both ways," Charles told him. Then he jammed the needle into Erik's thigh with so much force it went straight through the fabric of his pants, and pushed the plunger down. 

One of Erik's hands shot out instinctively to grab Charles' throat, while the other pulled the syringe from his leg. Charles gasped at the pressure, his hands clutching at the fingers cutting off his air, before giving in and closing his eyes against the betrayal in Erik's. He didn't open them again until Erik's grip went slack. 

Charles pushed himself off the bed, landing gracelessly on the floor. Erik had fallen half across bed, his hands still flexing at his sides as he tried to move. It didn't look right, to see him like that, but Charles couldn't think like that. He forced himself to remember that image he had been trying to forget. He had tried to forget so much of what he had seen through the eyes of others as he slept here. 

He had watched once, as Erik stood regally in front of a ten story building, eyes blazing as he brought it all crumbling down by doing nothing more than closing his hand to a fist. Charles had written it off as a nightmare along with everything else, because that would mean the screams of the people inside had not been real. 

But of course, they had been. 

Charles pushed himself back to his feet, arranging Erik gently on the bed, before carefully moving to straddle him. He felt sick as he did, as though he'd been cast in the role of Delilah—seducing the great warrior, only to strip away his power while he slept. He lifted the helmet off Erik's head with shaking hands nevertheless, and the resulting rush of his mind nearly tore a scream from Charles' bruised throat. 

Erik's eyes were still open, watching him, and he made a weak grab to get the helmet back. _Be still_ , Charles told him, and Erik's hands dropped and froze in place. Charles framed Erik's face gently, but was careful not to lock eyes with his own reflection. 

"I wanted so much to fix you," Charles whispered. "And instead you've broken me." 

_Please_ , Erik pleaded in his head, but whether he wanted mercy or absolution, Charles didn't ask. He could not give him either. 

"You'd only destroy this world too," Charles said. "You're in too much pain. It's like you're walking around with an open wound. But I can take it all away." 

_Charles_ , Erik said, in his head again. Charles pressed his eyes shut and tried to block him out. 

"I'm sorry," Charles whispered. "I know I am doing something far worse to you than you have ever done to me. But this has never been just about us, Erik. I should have stopped you long ago, for all our sakes." 

He leaned forward to rest his forehead against Erik's, placing his fingers at each of his temples and then sucking in a deep breath. 

When Charles dove inside his mind it reminded him of the day they met—of plunging into that dark water with no real certainty of what he would find beneath it, or if he would ever find his way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the kudos, comments and feedback! And also, those of you who were thinking there's no way I could have this finished in five parts, my ending is getting a bit longer and I'm tempted to break it into two, so you may well be right. But it won't be more than six, I promise!


	5. 2 1 4 7 8 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Charles dove inside his mind it reminded him of the day they met—of plunging into that dark water with no real certainty of what he would find beneath it, or if he would ever find his way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter wasn't supposed to exist. This was supposed to be like two paragraphs of exposition at the start of the last chapter. Except this kind of came out of nowhere, and I had to write it, even though I kind of break them both. 
> 
> There will be one more chapter after all, so I had to change the total to six. Sorry for any confusion, but the next one will be the last one for sure!

There was a storm brewing in Erik's mind. 

The first thing Charles felt when he got there was the rain. He tried to stand but the ground was strangely malleable beneath his feet, and he was not wearing any shoes. He caught himself with one hand when he fell, and his fingers wrapped around something cold and slippery and soft. He pulled his hand away at once, but the terrified realization of where he was had already started creeping up his spine. 

Someone lit a match, and that was when it became vibrantly clear what he was standing on. Bodies were stacked beneath him, one atop another, eyes glazed like glass staring accusingly at him from all directions. Charles fell back against a wall of earth, before glancing up. 

Erik stood at the edge of the mass grave, holding the burning match. 

"Hello, Charles," Erik said courteously, and then he tossed the match. "Get out of my head." 

Charles threw out a hand and the match froze in the air, suspended but still burning, and that was when he felt past the illusion. This was not real. There were no bodies. There was no grave. 

The ground beneath his feet became solid, and Erik staggered back from him as they became level with one another. Charles waved his hand and the match disappeared. "Erik," he said, and left it at that, biting his lip to hold back all the apologies he wanted to make.

Erik knew very well why he was here, but Charles had not expected it to be like this. He'd never thought he'd have to face him again before it was done. This was far deeper than he'd ever gone in another's mind. Even when he was controlling someone he was only pulling strings on the surface of their thoughts—just rerouting commands from the outside. 

This was like being pulled into another world entirely, like being forced to adjust to a new center of gravity. He stumbled over his breathing for a moment when he realized there was no air here. He was on a bed in a room full of mirrors, with his hands pressed against his best friend's head. He wasn't really here.

He could see metal gates in the distance, enclosing them in. It was still raining and even though he probably could, Charles didn't try to make it stop. He shivered from the cold, staring across at Erik as his hair grew damp and the water dragged it down into his eyes. Somehow Charles was not surprised this was the first place to come to Erik's mind.

There was an energy here too. Maybe it was just synapses sparking as they would in any healthy mind, or maybe it was a result of Erik's singular power; it was a kind of electricity, a fission of something indescribable. This place made him wary in a way no place real ever had. Here his power had no limitations. Here he had the power to rewrite history—to erase events, or to invent them at will. He could mold Erik into absolutely anything at all. 

But he could not play God anymore than he already was. 

He was here to do one thing. He was here to take Erik's life. To strip it away, piece by piece, until nothing of Erik Lehnsherr was left. 

No mercy, Charles thought, repeating Raven's advice like a mantra to himself. Erik had taught them that. 

"I really hadn't expected this," Erik said. "Though I suppose I should have." 

"I hadn't expected you to drug me, lock me up, and start a war," Charles said. "And I know I should have." 

Erik was circling him, eyes narrowed and intent. He was not wearing his helmet and it made Charles' heart clench. This was the Erik he pulled from the water. This was the Erik from their road trip. He looked so much younger like this. He looked almost human. 

"That wasn't Amelia that bandaged your hand," Erik said, and Charles had turn to keep eye contact as he moved around him, slowly getting closer in. 

"No, it wasn't," Charles agreed. 

"Well played," Erik said. "Pretending outrage about how I corrupted your lovely sister, and all the time she was working for you." 

"Not all the time, no," Charles said. "If you hadn't gone so far, I'm quite sure she would have followed you anywhere. You left her no other option. You left no options for any of us." 

"Then what are you doing here, Charles?" Erik demanded, stopping suddenly and looking angry. "I know what you're planning, what are you waiting for? Couldn't you have just erased everything I am with a thought? Or better yet, stopped my heart? You forget I know exactly how powerful you are." 

"I don't know. Maybe. But I wanted—" Charles started. "I want to know what's happened to you, because someone should know, someone should remember, and it can't be you."

"You never can do things the easy way, can you?" Erik asked. "You're just prolonging this for us both. As long as you're here, I'll be obligated to fight. It doesn't matter that I know I can't win, I won't surrender, even to you." 

"You would prefer I just killed you?" Charles asked. 

Erik stepped up beside him, and he was almost close enough to touch. "Yes," he said, voice low and fierce. "I would have." 

"It is my belief that we are all capable of murder, or horrible violence, if pushed to our limits," Charles said. "This is true even of me. But I have my methods, Erik, and you have yours. If I can salvage something of you in the process, then I owe it to you to try."

"No matter what it does to you?" Erik whispered, and Charles held his ground as Erik moved behind him, fingers ghosting at his waist. "I don't think you really want to know everything that's in my head." 

"If I'm going to do this, I should know exactly what it is I've done," Charles told him.

"Punishing yourself at the same time you're punishing me?" Erik asked. "That's so like you that I don't know why I'm surprised." 

Charles forced himself to step away. He approached the gates, leveling them with a wave of his hand, a strange echo of a power that wasn't his. They wilted to form a path along the ground, the metal leaking into the grass and reforming as stones.

Charles approached a cliff and came to a stop, staring down at the chaos below him. It seemed he would start with Erik's war. 

It looked like something from one of Shaw's visions of the future, but this was much worse than that, because this was Erik's memory of the very recent past. Washington D.C. had been the first to fall. 

"Is this really what you wanted?" Charles asked, as he felt Erik come to a stop beside him. Charles did not take his eyes away from the ruined city. He'd seen glimpses in the minds he'd touched while he slept, but it was so much worse than he'd thought. 

The city stood in tatters. Mutants were camping on the front lawn of the White House, some raucous with laughter, but most pulled in on themselves, trying to disappear. 

"No, this was necessary," Erik said. "What I wanted would have taken time." 

"Show me," Charles said softly. 

The change began slowly, like a flower coming into bloom. The buildings righted themselves and grew taller than before, shining brightly even as it continued to rain. Trees grew up beside them, a little girl standing beside them, coaxing them higher with some as yet undiscovered power. 

Mutants walked freely everywhere and together, some with obvious mutations that colored their skin or gave them wings, and some with subtler powers—standing there looking human, holding fire or ice in the palms of their hands. 

Then Charles saw them. It was Erik and himself, walking together down the street, side by side. Erik wore his cape, though not his helmet, and this strange vision of himself walked beside him, laughing, wearing a dark grey three-piece suit. 

"It's a beautiful dream," Charles said quietly. 

"It doesn't have to be a dream," Erik insisted. "You can still stop this, Charles. We can still make this happen. Together. Like we're supposed to." 

"And you call me naïve," Charles said, his voice catching on something between a laugh and a sob. "This is fantasy, can't you see that? Do you really expect people to follow you after what you've done? How many of those mutants you were fighting for had humans that they loved? Or do you think you're the only one that loved your mother?" 

Charles felt the sudden force of Erik's anger before the backhand knocked his head to the side. He caught his balance and stood his ground, biting at his lip and tasting blood. He wiped a hand across his mouth and stared at the blood dazedly. He wondered distractedly if what happened here happened to him out there. The mind was a capable of incredible things; Charles knew it better than anyone. 

"You know I'm right," Charles said. Erik himself looked unsettled, staring at the blood he'd spilled. "I've never understood that about you. How you could survive, all you survived—and then turn around and—" 

"Because that's _how_ I survived," Erik said. "That was the only way I could survive. Someone had to pay for what happened to me." 

"Oh, my friend," Charles said, and his vision was blurring, as though he'd dreamt up tears. "Don't you see? It's happened all again, and this time you're the one that has to pay for it. You could have been—but it's too late, you've made yourself the villain." 

Erik turned his eyes back to that world below. "That really depends on who you ask, doesn't it?" he asked. 

"I suppose you're right," Charles agreed, before shakily raising one hand. "I suppose I'm your villain." 

The scene below them began to glow, as though the sun had broken through the storm, burning so brightly white that it left nothing in its wake. In a pulse like a single solar flare, everything below them was gone.

"I feel like you should be," Erik said, his eyes shining with the reflection of that empty space. "But I'm not sure I remember why."

Charles turned away from him, unable to face the blankness in his gaze. He started walking the opposite direction. Erik's mind was a labyrinth, and he wondered how long he might spend here, collecting up his memories to place them in his own mind; it was no easy process, and it reminded him of catching butterflies to pin them to a board. That particular practice had always horrified Charles as a child. 

The comparison stuck in this throat, and he pushed himself forward, forcing himself to walk until a beach appeared before him like a mirage—it was a moment, caught in time. He could see himself, with Erik crouched above him, and Moira fifteen feet away, her gun aimed directly at them. The bullet was held motionless half way between them. 

He stumbled onto the beach into the sun, though he still felt soaked through to the skin. This was the moment, Charles thought. This was when it had changed. 

Maybe if he just took this, he wouldn't need to take anything else. 

But that would be fooling himself, it wouldn't fool Erik. Erik had changed the moment he killed Shaw—and all of the rest of his memories were tied to that single goal. There was no way to take the bad without also taking the good. Erik would realize something was missing if he tried, and there was no telling what he'd find to fill it in. 

"Charles?" Erik called. He was on the other edge of the sand, wearing the wetsuit he'd been wearing when they met. 

Charles could hear his own voice as well, echoing through this entire place, asking Erik to let go. He looked out to the water and instead of those armadas, he saw only Shaw's yacht. From the bow of the ship, Emma Frost laughed delightedly and blew him a kiss. 

He closed his eyes and it all went away, swirling around him like a sandstorm, before it spun itself to snow and trickled down to nothing. When he opened his eyes again everything was white except for Erik, still dressed in black, staring at him from a few feet away. 

"I can feel it happening," Erik said, pressing his hands to his head. "I'm losing myself." 

"Yes," Charles said. "But it will get better. Soon you won't remember you've ever had anything to lose." 

"And I'll be dead. Because what are we, if not our memories?" Erik demanded. "You know the answer better than anyone." 

"It's what you are with yours that's the problem," Charles said softly. "I don't know what else to do, Erik. You're too powerful to be imprisoned. I'm not arrogant enough to believe I could hold you against your will." 

Erik's eyes narrowed. "As I did, you mean," he said. 

"You knew I'd try to stop you," Charles said. "You kept me alive anyway." 

"Yes," Erik agreed, grinning with reluctant admiration, though he wouldn't meet his eyes. "And you very nearly stopped me, quite literally in your sleep. But I do not have the option of toying with your mind to make you join my cause. I had to work with what I had."

"I don't have any intention of forcing you do to anything after I'm done here," Charles told him. "Once we're awake I don't intend to ever see you again." 

Erik went pale, looking more terrified than he had at the thought of losing his mind. "Charles, no, you—" 

Erik broke off at the sound of laughter, and Charles went still, because that was him laughing, sounding utterly delighted, and Charles doesn't know when Erik even heard him laugh like that. He can't remember laughing like that for years. 

Charles spun around to find that his mansion had crept up behind him, standing tall and proud, grass creeping out just around the foundations. The doors were standing wide open, and he could make out figures running through the entryway. There was laughter everywhere. Sean was leaning out one of the upstairs windows, adjusting his flight suit beside a very human-looking Hank. 

"What?" Charles breathed, stepping forward. Erik was in front of him in a moment, trying to hold him back.

"No, not this," Erik says. "Charles, don't go in there. Leave me this."

The laughter was like a siren call—Charles could not turn away. He moved around Erik, and then he was wandering through his own mansion's halls. It was filled with children ranging five to twenty, rushing through the halls as they used their powers and laughed with each other. 

If that vision outside had been Erik's fantasy, this was Charles'. He didn't know what it was doing inside of Erik's head. 

He'd been walking to his study almost without realizing it, and soon he was standing in the doorway, watching a scene play out. Erik leaned on the other side of the door, closed off now after his previous display of emotion. He'd traded in his wetsuit for a turtleneck and jeans somewhere along the way. 

Then Charles sees himself, the way he must look to Erik. 

The Charles inside the study had very little in common with the rain-soaked and miserable Charles looking inside from the doorway. He looked carefree, laughing easily, his eyes almost too blue. He was grabbing books off the bookshelf and flipping through them as another Erik followed his steps. 

The Erik inside the room had just as little in common his doppelganger as Charles did with his. He was laughing too, and looked younger, watching Charles scan through the books with something close to adoration. 

Charles flinched when he saw himself launch himself into Erik's arms, wrapping his hands around his neck to whisper something in his ear, before being silenced with a kiss. 

"This never happened," Charles said, his voice catching on the words. 

"You know very well there's more to a mind than memory," Erik said, glancing over at him. "There was a time, before Cuba, when I thought the future you wanted might not be so disagreeable." 

"What happened to change your mind?" Charles asked. 

"The people we saved tried to kill us," Erik told him simply. "That's when I knew if you were ever going to have this life, I was going to have to fight for it. Because you obviously weren't going to."

Charles looked away from the vision as he saw himself return the kiss. He reached out without looking, to begin unraveling it. 

"You should kill me, Charles," Erik said. "It would be more merciful than this." 

Charles pushed away from him angrily, stomping down the quickly disappearing hall. "You don't deserve my mercy," he yelled, looking back over his shoulder. "That could have been us!" 

"That was never going to happen and you know it—that—that—that—what were we talking about?" Erik asked. 

Charles froze, paling as he turned to look back as the last tendrils of that forgotten future disappeared around them. Erik could not recall it after it was gone. Charles had to remind himself that was the whole point. 

"Nothing," Charles said quietly. The mansion had disappeared completely. They were standing now in an empty field. "It's nothing." 

"You're really not going to stop, are you?" Erik asked. 

"I can't," Charles said. "This is the only way to keep everyone safe. You included. People are already coming after you, you told me so yourself." 

"And what about you?" Erik asked. 

"People will come after me too," Charles said. "There's no hiding anymore. You achieved that much at least." 

"And will you fight?" Erik asked. 

"If I can do this to you, I can do anything," Charles said. "You got your wish there too. But I'm not going to fight for the same things you fought for." 

"Of course you're not," Erik said. 

Charles pushed his hair out of his eyes as the rain started up again. There were lightening flashes now as well, crackling around them. At first Charles wondered if Erik was doing it to frighten him, until he saw just how pale Erik had become. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t being done consciously. 

"You need to leave," Erik whispered. "Charles, please. Do whatever you're going to do but leave." 

Charles turned around instead. A gleaming metal hallway now stood in the middle of the field, entirely unattached on either side. There were three light bulbs along the ceiling that flickered in and out, and there were doors all along the length, though they appeared to lead nowhere. They were each numbered, but not in any fashion that made sense. 

2, 1, 4, 7, 8, and 2 again. 

Charles walked towards and saw a shadowed figure slowly approaching from the other end of the hall. When the lights flickered on it was Erik, but Charles knew with dreadful certainty that every time they went dark it was Shaw. That shared half-grin seemed to change from the right to the left with each sudden flash. 

"You shouldn't go where you're not wanted, telepath." 

The voice, though—that was all Shaw, deceptively polite, tone slick and sweet. Charles took an involuntary step back, and pressed right up against Erik. Erik reached out and grabbed one of his arms tightly, though whether the grip was meant to restrain or support him Charles couldn't tell. 

"Tsk, tsk," Shaw said, coming out into the light. "Erik, you disappoint me yet again, letting him run around your mind, rearranging things. Must I always do your dirty work?" Shaw grinned widely. "Ah, well. At least I enjoy it." 

That was all the warning Charles had before a blinding pain pressed into his mind. He cried out and fell to his knees, one arm wrenching up where Erik still held it in his grip. Erik immediately dropped down beside him. "Charles?" he asked. 

Charles pulled away from him, dropping to sit in the grass. He pressed his eyes shut but it didn't help. He felt like he'd been struck by that lightening. 

"I warned you I would fight," Erik whispered. "You never listen." 

"Oh god, this is your power," Charles realized, pressing his hands against his eyes. "Magnetism. You've created some kind of electromagnetic field." 

"At least he's smart, I'll give him that," Shaw said. "What is it with telepaths, I wonder? So bright and pretty, but not to be trusted, am I right?" 

"Shut up," Erik growled at him, trying to pull Charles' hands away from his face. "Charles?" 

Charles gasped again as that strange power pushed and pulled against him. He couldn't figure out if it was trying to force him out or trap him in. Erik grabbed his arms and dragged him up to his knees, forcing his hands down so he had no choice but to look at him. 

"You have to leave, now," Erik insisted. "I can't stop this." 

"I can't stop either," Charles said, in between pained gasps of breath. "I'm sorry. I can't. It's a stalemate, again, it appears." 

"Will this kill you?" Erik demanded, giving Charles a harsh shake. "Will it?" 

"I don't know," Charles said, trying to focus enough through the pain to hold his gaze. "I've never been in a mind like yours before." 

Erik placed a hand at the back of Charles' neck, forcing their foreheads together. "Then do it, Charles," he whispered. 

"I can't do anything," Charles said. "We're both trapped here. It's over." 

"Stop trying to martyr yourself," Erik snapped. "You can stop this. You can do anything you want here. If it's my power that's hurting you, then take it away." 

"Don't you dare," Shaw snarled. "Don't you listen to him, Charles. You haven't got any power at all." 

Charles looked shattered. He ignored Shaw and reached out to grab Erik. "If I do that, I don't know that I can give it back," he said. "I was going to leave you with that at least—" 

"Do it," Erik told him grimly. "You have to stop me, because I can't do it myself." 

Charles let Erik pull him into a tight embrace and shut his eyes. Then he reached out and grasped onto that power to follow it back. He found the winding passages ways that lead to that amazing gift and closed them all off one by one, leaving them bolted and impassable. 

"No!" Shaw roared. "You have to stop him!" 

He felt the last of the connections sever with a strange snap, snap, snap—and then Shaw was gone, and they were alone in the cold hallway, holding onto each other like they were the last ones left on Earth. 

Here in this place they were all there was, so in a way it was very nearly the truth. 

"That's that then," Erik said quietly. "Time for you to go." 

Charles was shaking, and he didn't want to open his eyes. In some other time this had been them—joined together to defeat Shaw. Except that this time there had been no Shaw, not really. It was all Erik. 

"Charles, you have to go," Erik said, but he made no move to lessen his hold. 

As if to reinforce Erik's statement, Raven's voice echoed above them— _Charles! Charles, answer me! Please, oh god, please Charles, wake up—_

"You have to finish this and go," Erik said firmly, wrapping his hands around Charles to hold him back so he could see him. "You're going to lose yourself here, and then we'll both be lost." 

_Don't do this,_ Raven's voice plead from somewhere outside of them, _please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, just don't—_

"I'm not finished," Charles protested, his voice catching over the words. They were in a field now that had no end. The horizon stretched endless in all directions. Only that strange hallway marred the scene. 

"Yes you are. Do you think I don't know what you're doing? Did you think I wouldn't figure it out? Even with all you've already taken, I still know you better than anyone else," Erik said, dragging Charles against his chest by his wrists. Charles had the power to stop him here, just as he always had before, but he let him pull him closer all the same. 

"I already told you. I have to stop you," Charles said. "And this is the only way I know how."

"But that's not what I'm talking about, you little fool," Erik said. "You're here to try and save me, just like always. You could have wiped my mind, you didn't have to be here to do it. You want to see my memories first hand before you destroy them, because if you don't see them, you can't ever give them back." 

"No, that's not—" Charles twisted in his grip, but Erik just pulled him back. 

"But, Charles, it doesn't matter if you have them or not, you still can't ever give them back," Erik said quietly. 

"Erik—" Charles started, his voice pleading.

"I don't want you to see what's behind those doors. I don't. Consider it my last request, let me do this much for you at least," Erik said. "We both know you can never give me back what's gone. Not really. So finish this, for us both." 

"Erik," Charles said, raising up to meet his eyes. He pulled his hands away so he could reach out and frame Erik's face. "Erik, no. No! Don't you see? This right now? This is you—this is who you really are. We can get through this—" 

"The only reason I'm thinking this clearly is you've already taken so many of the reasons for my rage—but what Shaw did to me, it's like a virus," Erik said. "It's infecting everything. He remade me into his own image. All things considered, I would rather you remake me in yours." 

"You can remake yourself," Charles protested. "I was wrong, Erik, I should have just—" 

"Tried to reason with me?" Erik asked quietly. "You would have failed. And if you let me out of here, or undo what you've done, I'll hurt you. I won't want to, but I will. You need to do this for me now, before I lose the strength to want to do the right thing." 

"This isn't the right thing," Charles said. "I knew that even when I first decided to do it." 

"The only thing, then. Just take it," he said. "Take all of it. I don't want to remember anything, not even my childhood."

Erik took Charles' hand in his, and then pressed it splayed against the metal wall beside them. Charles watched as all the color began to bleed from the walls—white rushing out from where he held his hand to cover everything like the aftermath of an avalanche. He started to pull away and Erik pushed his hand back. 

"How long do I have?" Erik asked. 

"Minutes," Charles said brokenly. "Less." 

"Then this is goodbye. Just…just leave me something of you," Erik said. "Please, just leave me something of you." 

Charles could feel his command working already, even if he tried, he wasn't sure he could stop it. Everything was being washed away. In a few more seconds, Erik would be lucky to remember his own name—that one last shred of identity and all those varied bits of practical knowledge that Charles was trying so desperately to allow him to keep.

"I can't. You know I can't," Charles whispered. "I can only leave you with this."

And as Erik's mind went white around them, Charles pulled him close for one last kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 214782: the number tattooed on Erik's arm.


	6. X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King is dead, he'd told Erik. Long live the King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took me so long to post! I've been the living dead the better part of the month due to allergies, or it would have been done much quicker.

When he next opened his eyes, the world felt like the dream. 

He was in Raven's arms. She had dragged him away from Erik into the opposite corner of the room, and pulled him back against her. He could feel her breath against the back of his neck, and he counted each exhalation, using the sound to ground him back in reality. 

"How long has it been?" Charles asked after a moment. 

Raven sobbed behind him. "Charles? Oh, thank god. Are you okay?" 

"I'm here," Charles said. "How long?" 

Raven released him reluctantly, moving around to kneel in front of him. "About half an hour?" she guessed. 

Half an hour. Charles pressed his eyes shut. He felt as though he'd been gone for years. He got to his feet slowly, and reluctantly allowed Raven to steady him, because it was that or falling on his face. 

"You should rest," Raven said. "I can stall the others, I can pretend I'm Erik—" 

"No," Charles said, keeping his gaze away from Erik, who still slept. "I'm ending this now." 

Charles pushed open the door to his cell and stepped outside, and it was like being back on solid ground after months at sea. Emma was the first to see him, and she stepped forward in disbelief, morphing into diamond form. "Xavier?" she said. 

Charles reached out for another mind as she approached. With a sound like thunder, Azazel appeared behind Emma at his command, and the two of them disappeared just as quickly in a puff of smoke. 

The rest of the Brotherhood stood uncertain, some preparing to attack, but in their moment of hesitation Charles already had them— _sleep_ , he commanded, and they all fell at once. 

After a moment, more than half of them rose again, eyes vacant, and began to walk away. 

Raven wrapped her hand in his, watching them go. "What are you doing?" she asked. 

"I'm sending away the ones I can't trust," Charles told her. "I've erased the last few weeks of their memories and sent them back to what's left of their homes." 

"Azazel?" Raven said quietly. "You aren't bringing him back either?" 

"He would never forgive me killing Erik," Charles said, glancing over at her. "Emma might, but I can't afford to have her here at the moment." 

"He forgave Erik killing Shaw," Raven said. 

"Because he couldn't see any difference between them," Charles said after a moment. "They wanted the same things." 

Raven nodded, before glancing at those left. "And the rest of them?" she asked. 

"They'll follow me when the time comes," Charles told her, glancing at the sleeping mutants in contemplation. "But there are things we must take care of first. I've already called Hank. He'll be here soon." 

"Called him how?" Raven asked, and Charles just stared at her. "Right. Of course. He was close by then?" 

"He was in Westchester," Charles said. 

"You can reach out that far?" Raven asked in disbelief. "I didn't realize that you could." 

"I didn't realize it either," Charles said, but something had changed in him. He didn't know if it had happened while he lay sedated, trying to stop Erik's destruction, or if it had happened in Erik's mind, as he was destroying it—but the world seemed simplified, and his powers were no longer restrained. 

He could sort through minds for miles, the way he'd only ever done before when locked inside Cerebro. 

Charles grabbed onto the table, feeling dizzy suddenly, and Raven stepped beside him. "Maybe you should rest," she suggested. 

"Can't," he said. "They're here." 

"Who is?" Raven asked, right as she heard it. She glanced towards the window as the X-jet appeared, landing on the lawn beside the headless statue that still stood in the courtyard. 

Charles headed quickly for the doors, rushing out into the lawn. Raven followed him to the doorway, but no further. The X-Men came out of the jet, and Charles fell into Hank's fierce embrace. Sean threw himself on Charles' back, wrapping his arms around them both to curl in Hank's fur. Alex just stood beside them, one hand reaching out to firmly grip Charles' shoulder. 

Raven held a hand over her mouth to keep her emotions in. No one asked her to come any closer, and she didn't intrude. She went back inside to leave them to it, stepping around the sleeping bodies of her colleagues. 

They came in a moment later. Hank was discreetly supporting Charles, and Sean and Alex were hovering. It was strange to see them taking care of him, instead of the other way around. 

Then they all looked up, and every one of them but Charles froze when they saw her. 

"What—" Hank growled. 

"Why isn't she asleep with the rest of them?" Alex demanded. 

"If it wasn't for Raven, I would still be in that cell," Charles told them calmly, stepping away from them to join her. "If this is going to work, we're all going to have to leave everything that's happened in the past. We need their help, and we can't ask for that and try to punish them as well." 

"So all's forgiven then?" Hank demanded. "We just let them get away with the things they've done?" 

Charles watched the group carefully, surprised that Hank was the loudest voice of dissent. They weren't children anymore, Charles realized, and he wasn't going to try and paint this as being anything other than it was. "Yes," Charles said. "That's exactly what I want you to do." 

Hank deflated then, dropping to sit down at the table. "Because we have to be the better men?" he asked, sounding only slightly bitter. "You don't know everything they did." 

"We need them," Charles said. "I've been in the minds of everyone left here, and none of them were happy with the path Erik lead them down." 

"They followed him anyway," Hank said. 

"We thought we were doing the right thing," Raven said quietly. Hank looked up to glare at her. "We wanted to make the world a place where we could be accepted, where we didn't have to hide. We were convinced that it would never happen without force, at least not in our lifetimes." 

"That doesn't excuse it," Alex snapped, standing at Hank's shoulder. 

"We can't trust her, Charles," Hank said. "Or any of them." 

"I've already trusted her, with my life, with all our lives," Charles said. "And you seem to be forgetting what I can do. If any of them so much as think to betray us, I'll know." 

Hank stood up in surprise. "You're going to monitor them?" he asked. 

"I can't afford not to," Charles said. "Not until they prove themselves at least." 

Raven shifted uncomfortably, but didn't protest. She didn't ask if she was being monitored as well, either. "What about Erik?" she asked. 

"I thought he was dead," Sean said in surprise. 

"I've wiped his mind," Charles said, eyes going to the cell door. "But he's still alive." 

"Then we should kill him," Hank growled. 

Charles gently grabbed his arm. "That man in there knows nothing of Magneto, and he is not to be harmed. But you are right that Magneto must die. The people must believe him dead, if they're going to have any hope for the future." 

"Charles," Hank started, his tone shifting between disbelief and sympathy. "They're the same man. You can't only kill one of them." 

"We can, and we will," Charles said. "We simply have to show the world that Magneto is dead." 

"But he's not," Raven said. 

"And I am not X, the savior of humankind," Charles said, glancing over at her. "What matters is what people believe." 

He could hear his own voice in the back of his head, like an echo from long ago. The King is dead, he'd told Erik. 

Long live the King. 

-

Erik had taken over the television stations first thing. He'd transmitted his request for surrender straight into every home, asking mutants to come forth and join him, humans to give themselves up. 

Now Charles would use it to end this once and for all. 

"They'll expect a body," Hank insisted. 

"They won't be getting one," Charles said firmly, holding the helmet out to Raven. She morphed into Erik and placed it on her head. Charles swallowed hard as Erik came alive in front of him, his eyes burning anger, his jaw held taut. Raven knew Erik well—it was almost as good as the real thing. 

"Can you…make him a little different?" Charles asked quietly. "A scar, or something. Something distinctive." 

Raven drew a line of scar tissue curving down beside her nose, to her chin, then towards her throat, so it would be visible through the helmet. "There," she said. "How's that?" 

"Perfect. We can kill Magneto, and no one will recognize Erik as the same man," Charles said. "That damn helmet had a use after all. He never went anywhere without it, so only a handful of people have ever seen Erik's face."

Hank roughly tied a homemade squib to Raven's chest, hiding it beneath the fabricated folds of Magneto's uniform. "This will hurt," he told her, and made no apology for it. 

Raven moved behind the podium they had set up in the courtyard, and Sean and Alex approached, setting up the camera. Raven read one of the speeches Erik had already written, flawlessly giving her appeal for mutants to come forward and join them. 

She set off the squib a few paragraphs in, falling back and out of the frame, dropping behind the podium. Charles motioned them to turn off the camera and approached, feeling dizzy as he stared at her, still in Erik's form. The clothes at her chest had burst into a compact hole, and she lay still enough she looked as though she were really dead. 

"Raven," Charles said softly. "You can get up." 

She sat up, morphing back to her blue skin as she did. "Did that look okay?" she asked. 

"It was Oscar worthy," Charles assured her, calming now that Erik was no longer staring back at him. He turned to Hank. "Broadcast it." 

Sean and Alex took the camera back inside, and Raven followed them, holding her sore chest. Hank stayed behind, staring after them. "All this, just to save him?" Hank asked, that same disappointment in his tone that had been there since Cuba. "Was it worth it, professor? Because he doesn't deserve all this trouble, we should have just thrown him to the wolves." 

"You're wrong," Charles said. 

"You just don't—" Hank started. 

"No, you're wrong to think I've saved him," Charles cut in, turning to face him. "I killed him. I took everything he was, and I pulled it all apart. So don't ask me if it was worth it, Hank. You might not like the answer you get." 

Charles walked away, and didn't look back. He couldn't face Hank at the moment, not when their roles in each other's lives had become so muddled. Charles wasn't perfect, and now Hank knew that. Charles was as human as the rest of them. 

 

-

 

They played it on every station, repeating it time after time. There were no working news stations left except the makeshift one Erik had built here, so Hank did it all from the comfort of their base. Charles watched the broadcast as it replayed, Raven's Erik so perfectly poised, so articulate, even Charles would not have suspected it wasn't him if he hadn't known. 

Charles could not bring himself to face the real Erik. Raven had been keeping him sedated, in that room of broken mirrors. But that was a temporary solution, and further complicated by the remaining members of the Brotherhood.

Charles had sent them all to their respective quarters, implanting the memory of Erik falling at the podium into all of their minds. He would have to hide Erik somewhere away from them as well, because it would be better if they thought him dead—less of a betrayal, for those thinking they should remain loyal. He had also implanted more false memories, just little suggestions, that Charles was leading them now. That they should follow him. 

They were suggestions only, not commands. Charles would send home any that did not wish to join him, but this way he would avoid having to confront a mob. He could simply quietly send his dissenters home, one by one. Charles suspected Raven did not approve, but they'd tried things her way once already. 

"Charles," Hank said, as he came to lean in the doorway. 

Charles looked up. He was sitting on the floor in front of Erik's room. He could feel Erik's mind behind him, floating empty in circles around the locked room. There was no single spark left—Erik's mind had been quite full of fire. It was so strange not to find it there now. 

"Did you contact them?" Charles asked absently, trying to focus instead on Hank's mind. Hank had changed in appearance more than any of them, but his mind remained as clear and principled as ever. He'd thrived in the conflict—he had turned Westchester into a refuge, for mutants and humans alike. He'd known Charles would approve. 

"Yes," Hank said. "The leaders of the human resistance have agreed to meet. It would have been easier to get them to agree if I could have said it was you that was coming. They all know who you are. That first week, professor, you were everywhere." 

"We don't want them coming just to see me, like some curiosity," Charles said, getting to his feet. "First we have to sell them Magneto's death. They need to believe it." 

"I wish I believed it," Hank said. 

Charles glanced over at him. "Hank, do you understand that Erik is gone?" he asked. "Because he is. Well and truly. My only hope is that the man in there might go on to live a better life. We stopped Shaw by killing him, and all it did was create another Shaw. I don't know if what I've done is any better, but maybe something good can still come of this." 

"And what if he remembers?" Hank asked. 

"That's not how it works," Charles said. "I could have fogged his memories, cut him off from them. But that wasn't what I did. I destroyed them." 

"But his power?" Hank asked. "That's not really gone, is it? I mean, it could come back." 

"It could," Charles agreed, glancing back at the door. "All I've done is erase his memory of the access points, but based on past experience, our powers can also be instinctively triggered by severe emotional distress. Given a traumatic enough event, he could easily find it again." 

"And you're okay with that?" Hank demanded. 

"What else would you have me do?" Charles asked him tiredly, looking up at him. Hank looked fierce now, all coiled power and muscle beneath that vibrant coat of fur, but his eyes had not changed. Charles trusted him enough to understand. "Could you do it? Just go in there, and kill him? Would you be the same afterwards, if you did?" 

Hank broke their gaze. "No," he admitted. "I couldn't." 

"But you'd have me do it?" Charles asked. "Because I don't know if I'll recover from what I've done as it is." 

"No," Hank said, looking horrified. "Of course not. Professor, I'm sorry, I just—" 

"Then you come to me when you've thought of a better solution," Charles interrupted, not unkindly. 

Hank nodded, staring at his feet. "The meeting is a few miles from here," he said, trying to get them back to a subject they could discuss rationally. "Do you have a car here?" 

"Yes, but I've asked the teleporter John Wraith to transport us to the meeting," Charles said. "The teleporter prefers to be called Kestrel, and he has agreed to join us, along with a few others. The rest are still uncertain. Raven, Alex and Sean can hold down the fort. " 

"And you're sure you can trust them?" Hank asked. "Any of them?" 

"I am only as sure as they are," Charles said. "But that will have to be enough." 

 

\- 

 

The human resistance looked defiantly across at him. Their clothes were somewhat disheveled, but they looked healthy for the most part. It had only been weeks, after all, since they had been in their homes, getting on with their lives, oblivious to the possibilities. 

Charles kept tabs on all of them, but each was willing to listen, and desperate for the news of Magneto's death to be true. Some looked at Hank with trepidation, but almost all of them knew him—he had saved more than a few of their lives, and they accepted him. They barely seemed to notice Kestrel, who was standing inconsequential as a ghost at his side, all but using his power to flicker out of sight. 

Charles had not dressed up for this meeting. He had thrown a pea coat he'd found over his still blood stained white shirt, and pulled one size too large boots over his grey sweatpants. He remembered all too easily Erik's polished appeals. He did not want to lend himself to the comparison. Charles did not want to be a leader, for all that he knew he had become a symbol. 

"Is it true?" someone finally yelled. 

Charles found him easily in the crowd. "Magneto is dead," he said, his voice clear and formal, rather at odds with the rest of him. "The Brotherhood will not be continuing with their terrorist acts. You are all welcome to return home, and we would be happy to provide whatever assistance we can." 

"Where's the body?" a woman asked. Charles turned his attention to her. She was standing tall, a gun at her waist. 

"It's been cremated," Charles told her. He felt the rush of anger from the crowd before they started mumbling, but he let it wash past him. "I will not mark the end of his reign by allowing his head to be put on a spike. We're going to have to put such violence behind us if we're going to move forward. It's time now to look ahead." 

Charles turned towards Hank, grabbing the blood-splattered helmet from his hands and then tossing it on the ground in front of the crowd. "If you want a trophy, you can have this," he told them. What he did not tell them was that he had instructed Hank to drill tiny holes along all its seams so that it was rendered useless. 

"You all know very well he would not go without it," Charles said. 

The woman picked it up, rolling it in her hands, testing its strength, before nodding and handing it off. "How was he killed, then?" she asked. "I was under the impression bullets weren't an issue for him."

"The bullet that killed him was ceramic, and specially designed for him," Charles said easily. "Any other questions?" 

"Just one," she said wryly. "Who, exactly, are you?" 

The way she spoke reminded Charles of Moira, and he swallowed carefully as he considered his answer. Charles Xavier had no place here.

"I'm X," Charles said. "And I'm the one that killed him." 

The crowd went silent then, and the woman with Moira's eyes and Moria's voice assessed him carefully. "How will we know how to contact you?" she asked finally. "If we decide to take you up on your offers of help?" 

"When you decide you want my help, I'll know," Charles told her, and then he turned to Kestrel and nodded once. 

Kestrel reached out to grab Charles and Hank, and they all disappeared. 

 

\- 

 

Charles sat on the edge of the roof of the Brotherhood base, listening to the world. He could hear almost too much these days, and there was so much sadness still, over everything. At least tonight there was something beginning to break through it. A desperate kind of hope. 

He didn't know how long he had been sitting there when Raven dropped down beside him, casually dangling her legs off the edge of the roof. 

She glanced at him, and he was startled to see she was wearing her blonde disguise. He remembered that cold warehouse at the start of this all, and the familiar form isn't as comforting as it once was. Raven smiled sadly, reverting to her blue form, as though it was her reading his mind for once. 

"Why do I get the feeling you're not up here for the view?" she asked. 

"They're celebrating," Charles said softly. "I can hear them. They're celebrating that he's dead." 

"Wouldn't you?" Raven asked quietly. "I still remember how it felt when we first took out Shaw, weren't you happy at all, then, to see him die?" 

"I didn't see him die," Charles told her. "I felt it happen. And maybe it was no less than he deserved, but I can't find it in myself to be rejoice in his pain." 

"No, I suppose not," Raven agreed. "But they didn't have to feel Magneto die. They just get to think about what it means for them now that he has." 

Raven paused, swinging one leg slowly. She let out a heavy breath, and in another time, she might have leaned against him. She stayed where she was now, her back perfectly straight. 

"They didn't know Erik, Charles," she said after a moment. "Not like we did." 

"How is he?" Charles asked hesitantly. 

"I've weaned him off the sedatives," Raven said. "First thing he asked for when he woke up was you. Not by name, but it could only be you. I think something may be left." 

"Just a ghost, if anything," Charles said. "The memories are gone, but hopefully whatever is left will find some peace. Or maybe that's just what I tell myself to ease my conscience." 

"You've done the right thing," Raven told him. 

"You don't believe that," Charles said. "You still think he's right. You only did this to save me." 

"Well, you're my brother," she agreed. "And you're supposed to stay out of my head." 

"Oh, I think I'm well past that, don't you?" Charles asked her, turning to meet her eyes. "I think there's very little now that I wouldn't do." 

"You're a hero," Raven told him softly. "When you listen to them celebrating, how many of them are praising you?" 

"I'm not who they think," Charles said. 

"Well, maybe," Raven said. "But it's like you said, the part that matters is what they believe."

"Have you been talking to the Brotherhood members?" Charles asked. "What do they believe?" 

Raven sighed. "Most want to help," she said. "But some just want to disappear." 

"Then let them," Charles said. 

"What about Erik, Charles?" Raven asked hesitantly. 

"He'll have to be sent away," Charles said. He tried to shut out the celebrations, but they kept seeping through the cracks in his mind. His shields were all but shattered. 

"Maybe you could help him," Raven started. 

"No, I could only do more harm," Charles said. "Because I'd want him to be someone he's not. And he'd want to be someone he can no longer be. It's better this way. For us to just go our separate ways. And there's still a chance he could be recognized if he stayed, especially if he's with me." 

"I think you should see him," Raven said quietly. "You need to say goodbye. You both do." 

Charles knew he would have to, though the thought of seeing Erik, without feeling Erik, terrifies him. It had been bad enough when he was confronted with Erik in that helmet, but that, at least, had the possibility of being removed. 

"I know," he said. 

 

-

 

As Charles sat down across from Erik, he was grateful Raven had the foresight to change his room. It was hard enough to face this single phantom of his friend, without having it reflected back from every corner of the room—but there were no mirrors here, and only one place for Charles to look. 

Erik looked human and vulnerable without his helmet or his cape, his eyes staring at him like he had all the answers, like he knew everything. 

In all his arrogance, Charles had made that claim to Erik once. But that Erik had been far more experienced than him, and had known enough not to believe it. 

It was disorienting to see Erik look at him that way now. 

"Do you know your name?" Charles asked him politely, arranging his features to display all of the professional disinterest of a psychologist. 

"Erik," he whispered. "I think it's Erik."

"It is," Charles said. "That's it exactly. There's nothing else?" 

"Should there be?" Erik asked, in some phantom of his former tones, wry and shrewd and knowing. 

"No," Charles said after a moment. "There shouldn't be." 

Erik's arm darted across the table, snagging Charles hand and dragging it towards his own chest. "Well, there's you," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I see you." 

"You're not supposed to," Charles said shakily, twisting his hand out of Erik's grip—but still, Charles can't quite regret giving him that parting kiss. "Erik, you have to understand, after this you can never see me again." 

"I've done something horrible, haven't I?" Erik asked. He sounded so uncertain, so unlike the man that had sat across from him during those countless chess games, that Charles nearly reached out himself. 

He sucked in a breath instead, holding the table until his knuckles turned white. "Yes," he said. 

"To you?" Erik asked, leaning forward in concern. 

"To yourself," Charles said, and he remembered those shaky corridors of Erik's mind, winding deep down into his soul, all built with the best intentions long since gone to ruin. 

"And that's why I can't remember anything?" Erik asked. "They told me I'm human." 

"You are," Charles said. "You were in an accident, and it's no longer safe for you here. I'm sending you to Germany. You'll be well taken care of, I promise. It's still safe there. Sprechen sie Deutsch?" 

"Natürlich," Erik said. 

"Good," Charles said. "You'll be fine." 

"I don't think I will be. You're the only one I know," Erik said, nearly reaching out again, before pulling his hands back to his lap. "You know who I really am. Can't you tell me anything?" 

"Erik, I need you to listen to me very carefully. It doesn't matter what happened before. I can't tell you any more than I have," Charles said. "I've already left you with too much, and if I had any sense at all I'd—but that doesn't matter, what matters is that you need to focus on the future. Because that's all we have left."

"It was that bad?" Erik asked softly. 

"You have your whole life ahead of you," Charles told him. "Does the past matter so much?" 

"I think it does, because all my dreams are of you," Erik said. "We're kissing in a field of snow." 

Charles pushed back from the table, nearly stumbling in his desire to get away, and all semblance of composure was gone. Erik knew very well what effect he had on him, just like he always had. 

"I'm afraid that never happened, and I should go," Charles said. "Hank will be flying you to Germany, and a contact of mine will meet you there to help you settle in. You leave tonight. Goodbye, Erik." 

"Wait," Erik said, desperately reaching out to grab him as he turned to go. Charles sidestepped him easily, watching him with suspicion. "What's your name? Please, at least give me that. I feel I should know it." 

Charles turned towards the door, but stood frozen there, with his hand on the handle. 

"X," he said quietly. 

"That's not your name," Erik told him, eerily certain. 

"It's the one you gave me," Charles said. 

He left then without looking back, or he might have noticed the slight vibration of the lock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that I couldn't end this happier, but I started this story because I've seen so many stories where Erik becomes a mutant dictator and keeps Charles as his prisoner (and don't get me wrong, I love them), but he is always either unable or unwilling to fight back in any of them I've seen. So I wanted to write a story where Charles fought back and won—even though he could never enjoy the victory. It was just supposed to be a ficlet. I have no idea how it ended up over 20K. 
> 
> However, I couldn't resist ending it with the equivalent of the supposedly dead villain's hand bursting through the rubble. You may take it as a sign of hope or villainy as you will.


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